Lost and Found
by r4ven3
Summary: Harry is approaching his 60th birthday - another birthday without Ruth - when everything he'd believed to be true is proven to be untrue. How does he handle the news, especially when he has been attempting to move on? 11 chapters (probably)
1. Chapter 1

London – Monday 12th August, 2013:

She's always just out of his reach.

Sometimes she's in a dinghy, drifting out to sea. Sometimes she's crossing the road, and as a bus rumbles past he loses sight of her. The most common nighttime image he has of her is of her being bundled into a helicopter, and before he can climb aboard, the helicopter lifts off, hovers, and then swings away, and within minutes is out of sight. In that dream, he always crumples to the ground, feeling powerless to do anything to save her.

On this night, the dream is different.

_He is following the helicopter from behind the wheel of his car. He keeps it in sight, his eyes lifting to see it just ahead of him. It reaches the hospital before him, and by the time he has parked in the carpark beside the large grey building, it has dropped her off, leaving her to the ministrations of hospital staff. He reaches the fifth floor of the hospital building only to be be met by the Home Secretary and Erin Watts._

"_We're sorry, Harry," they say – together, like they have been rehearsing while they waited for him to arrive. "Ruth has gone to a better place, and the baby has gone with her."_

"_But I need to see her," he says, close to tears. "I never said goodbye."_

"_There's nothing we can do. We're very sorry. She's gone, and she's taken the baby with her."_

He's not aware that he's crying until he wakes and feels the wetness on his cheeks. He lifts his hand and quietly wipes his cheeks, while beginning the familiar process of distancing himself from the dream, pushing his automatic emotional responses down into his body, and calming himself by thinking about the day ahead. It is when he feels Roxy's hand on his shoulder that he remembers he is not alone.

"Are you alright?" she asks, her voice calm, gentle, her fingers caressing the skin of his neck.

"Of course."

"You were thrashing about, Harry. You were moving your head from side to side and saying `no, no, no'" When he offers her no reply, she barrels ahead. "You were dreaming of Ruth again …... weren't you?"

Harry lifts his hand and massages the skin above his eyebrows. It is only six in the morning, and already the day weighs heavily upon him. "Yes," he says at last. "It was … the same dream, too." Harry feels Roxy turn in the bed, and he knows she's watching him. Without turning his head, he knows she is gazing at him with concern and compassion. He also knows that he doesn't deserve her, just as he didn't deserve Ruth. He recognises that because she loves him without conditions he will lose her. It is only a matter of when.

"Do you realise that you only ever dream of her when you're home …. in your own bed?"

"Yes."

"And do you know why that is?"

He does, of course, but he's not yet ready to share that with Roxy. He's not yet ready to tell her that the one and only time he and Ruth had made love was in the very same bed they are now lying together. He is sure he loves Roxy – she is a good and loving woman – but he loves her out of gratitude, rather than passion. He is not sure if he loves her or needs her, but he suspects he stays with her from need rather than from love. She has become his anchor, his tether to sanity. Without her he may simply unravel. She came into his life when he needed someone to care about him, because he no longer cared about himself. She entered his life knowing that he had loved another, and despite her having gone forever, he will always love her more than he can ever love this woman who now comforts him. She knows that, and she cares for him anyway.

It had been a little over a year earlier that they had met. Roxanne Waterfield represented Waterfield Security – which she ran with her brother and sister-in-law – and they had submitted a tender to provide 24-hour security for foreign dignitaries attending the London Olympics. It had been Calum Reid who had brought Harry's attention to the tender, suggesting that Waterfield were a good option.

"I know the family," Calum had said, his enthusiasm clear. "Roxy's and Felix's mum was my Gran's best friend, and my mum's first boyfriend was their oldest brother, Julian. I could have easily been a Waterfield, except that my mum found my dad irresistible. I get my good looks from him, so I'm not complaining."

Harry had raised one eyebrow at Calum, hoping he'd take the hint and stop talking. Three days later he'd met Roxy and Felix at their office in Central London. For the first three months their relationship had been purely business. He'd offered the contract to Waterfield, and they had provided the security for a number of minor foreign heads of state. When the Olympics had come to an end, there had been the Paralympics, and Harry had offered a small contract to Waterfield, and so he had again negotiated with Roxy.

It had been early in January, four months after the London Paralympics had ended, that Harry had run into Roxy Waterfield at a conference for British security personnel at a hotel in Hampshire. They had sat together at dinner, and had spent two companionable hours talking in the bar before they'd headed – separately – back to their rooms. A week after they'd returned to London, Roxy had rung Harry and asked him to dinner. Although he was sure nothing would develop between them, he had accepted her dinner invitation. He'd surprised even himself when, at the end of the evening, he had asked her to accompany him to the Home Office's New Year dinner, held that year in late January, because of the reshuffle in the Home Office when William Towers had suddenly retired due to ill health.

They had dated – casually, Harry had believed – for another two months, until one evening when Roxy had pinned him down when they were saying goodnight at her door. Until then their relationship had been chaste, with only brief kisses exchanged at the end of an evening out. Harry had assumed they were both satisfied with that.

"Would you like to come inside, Harry?" she had asked, her voice low. "I'm offering you more than coffee."

Harry had hesitated, feeling embarrassed that he'd not seen this coming. Roxy and he were the same age – they had been born in the same year, she in May and he in November – and he'd thought of her as a friend. He'd not ever contemplated the possibility of her becoming his lover.

"Come inside anyway," she'd added, when she saw his reaction. "Perhaps we need to talk about this."

Over coffee, Harry had told Roxy about Ruth. When he reached the part where Ruth had died, he stopped, unable to continue.

"I already knew some of that story, Harry, but thank you for telling me." When Harry lifted his eyes in a question, she continued. "Calum had told me the essence of what Ruth was to you."

"She still is ….. that …... to me."

"I know. I'm not expecting I'll replace her. I'm only offering ….. comfort. Besides, it's a long time since I last slept with a man."

"How long?"

"Around twelve years. I had a fling with someone I used to know at university. We'd each been recently divorced. It was fun, but not terribly serious. You?"

_Seventeen months and three days_. "Four days before Ruth died." He hadn't added that he and Ruth had only had the one night together ….. that one glorious night which they'd both known would unlikely be repeated, but just not for the reason of her death. They had been prepared – almost – for Harry to be extradited three days later. He had expected to end his days rotting in some prison off the shores of the US. He hadn't been prepared for Ruth's death, and he still hadn't fully come to terms with it.

"I'll not plead with you, Harry, but I find you attractive, and I'd like to share my bed with you. We will just be satisfying a physical need. Nothing more."

So he'd stayed the night, and had been pleasantly surprised by how much he had enjoyed both Roxy as a lover and as a companion. Her body reminded him of Ruth's – rounded hips, full breasts, strong legs – and he had lost himself in her for those few exquisite moments of coupling. When he came he'd been careful to not call out for fear the name which left his lips would be Ruth's.

Over the following five months they had seen one another no more than twice a week, and at first they only ever spent the night together in her house, and in her bed, but only three months ago he had warmed to the idea of Roxy staying over at his house. It had been a watershed moment when he had asked her to sleep with him in his own bed. That had been where he and Ruth had spent their one and only night together, and to share that with Roxy had seemed wrong somehow. Theirs was not a passionate relationship, but it was respectful, and of late, Harry had admitted to himself that he had grown to love Roxy Waterfield. She was kind and gentle, forgiving, loving and understanding, and when they went out she looked good on his arm, her honey blond hair shining in the light. At this time of his life she was the perfect woman for him. He could see himself spending the remainder of his life with her. He could not, however, see himself marrying her. Apart from his one unwise and painful experience of marriage, he had only ever wanted to repeat that commitment with one woman.

Harry stays in bed while Roxy dresses and then leaves. He feels bad. She calls his dreams of Ruth his Guilt Dreams.

"You only have them when we're spending the night together in your bed," she'd pointed out to him a month or so earlier. "Perhaps we should only sleep together at my house. It could save us both a lot of anguish."

He had apologised, and said he'd think about it. What he hadn't told her was that he'd only begun having the dreams after they had begun sleeping together. His first disturbing dream about Ruth had occurred while he'd slept alone two nights after he'd first slept with Roxy. Harry agreed with her that they were fed by guilt. Despite the younger Gavrik being the one who had fatally wounded Ruth, Harry is sure that had he acted in a more forthright manner, she might still be alive today. He cannot get past the truth as he sees it …... that when she needed it most, he had failed to protect her.

It is only when Harry hears the click of his front door as Roxy leaves that he rolls out of bed and heads to the shower. As he stands naked under the hot water, allowing his skin to turn red before he adds the cold, he wonders how long it will be before he no longer thinks of Ruth with guilt and regret.

* * *

Across London, Malcolm Wynn-Jones stares at the still image on his monitor. He often works through the night, but on this morning he woke at 5 am, and so he thought he may as well check the images he has been capturing with his CCTV hack. With the myriad CCTV systems in operation across the UK, and most of them incompatible with one another, it has taken Malcolm over a decade to be able to access any CCTV system at will. With the exception of several areas in Scotland, and much of Northern Ireland, he can access video surveillance from most of the built up areas in the UK. His scans over the past 48 hours have been of the streets of Birchington-on-Sea in Kent, as well as the central part of Margate, just along the coast. While his scans have not given him any sign of Robert Seymour or Allal Harrak, there is one image which has shocked him to his core.

He waits until 7.30, and he has finished eating his breakfast before he makes two phone calls. The first is to Calum Reid, and the other is to Catherine Townsend.


	2. Chapter 2

London – Monday 12th August, 2013:

"I need Calum, and I need him now – preferably sooner," Harry barks as he walks on to the Grid and towards his office. On the way he is met by his Section Chief, Erin Watts, who is somewhat confronted by his early morning attitude. Erin prefers Harry when he's quiet and gentle, which he has been these past few months.

"He rang around twenty minutes ago to say he'd be late, He had an errand to run. I think it was in relation to those two men being watched by Malcolm Wynn-Jones."

Harry is already in his office, and only hears the first sentence spoken by Erin. He's feeling unnaturally irritated, and he knows that his irritation has nothing to do with Calum. He has no idea why he is feeling disturbed, although at his daughter's prompting, he is considering retirement once he turns 60 in a little less than three months. The only thing holding him back is the gaping chasm of time which will lie ahead of him, and which it will be his job to fill with something useful, and hopefully enjoyable. He longs to retire from the service, and dreads retirement in equal measure. Had Ruth lived …... Harry shakes his head, and opens his email program.

* * *

"What do you want us to do?" Catherine is the one to speak first. She has a production meeting at 10, and can't be late for it, even in the face of this crisis.

"I have no idea," Malcolm replies, his voice barely more than a whisper. He is sure he has barely moved since 5.30 am, when he'd first checked the images on his monitor.

Catherine looks at Calum, and sees that he is as stunned as Malcolm. "Shouldn't Dad be the first person to speak to about this? After all, he is the one most invested in this information being correct."

"I'm confident the information is correct, Catherine. I just thought that each of you, knowing Harry as you do, and being privy to his relationship with Roxanne Waterfield …... I thought you might know where we should head next."

"Are you suggesting we tell Roxy?" These are Calum's first words since he'd sat on a chair in Malcolm's cramped office just off his kitchen. "I know her rather well, but I'm not sure -"

"I'm not suggesting that, but there will come a time when she will need to know, and perhaps then it will be Harry's responsibility to tell her."

"We don't even know for sure whether the image is of Ruth," Calum barrels on, doing his usual impression of a bull in a china shop.

"I know the image is authentic. There is a moving image, and it's definitely her. Her walk is quite ….. distinctive."

"Perhaps we need to make contact with her …... just in case," Calum suggests.

"Just in case what?" Catherine turns towards Calum, her voice curt.

"She might be on some kind of operation. Why else would she be living on the Kent coast?"

"Because she likes it?" Catherine does not bother to hide the sarcasm.

Calum and Catherine first met soon after Ruth's funeral, and Malcolm had noticed the frisson between them, even on their first meeting. It appears to him that they rub one another the wrong way.

Malcolm sighs rather heavily, and shifts in his chair. "Someone has to tell Harry," he says, "and it should either be me or you, Catherine."

Catherine takes a big breath before speaking. "I think we should not tell him anything, at least not yet."

"He'll hate us for it should he discover that Ruth is in the UK and we knew and didn't tell him."

"I know, Calum, but he's been seeing Roxy for a number of months, and they seem ….."

"Resigned to being together?" Calum smirks as he speaks. His own relationship history is as chequered as is Harry's.

"I was about to say they seem quite settled, and for the first time since Ruth died, Dad appears happy. He may not want to see Ruth …. not after all this time. After all, it appears that she hasn't contacted him."

"But surely he'd be happier were he to know Ruth is alive, even if he'd rather stay with Roxanne." Malcolm is so often the voice of reason when others flounder under the weight of indecision. The other two sit quietly, contemplating his words, until it is Calum who speaks first.

"I have an idea," he begins.

"Those are the most ambitious four words in the English language," Catherine interrupts, "and the least wise."

"No. Hear me out. What if you two – Catherine and Malcolm – arrange to meet Harry in the next few days. Just make it a casual encounter, like a drink at the pub, Malcolm, or Catherine, you can drop in on Harry, just for a natter."

"Dad and I don't natter, Calum. We only ever discuss matters of national and international importance. Our usual topic of conversation is how best we can save the world, followed closely by unsubtle questions pertaining to my love life."

"Whatever. Drop in on Harry with a message from your brother. Anything. Then just drop a question into the conversation."

When Malcolm raises both his hands, Catherine and Calum halt their discussion. "This idea won't work. It sounds like a fishing expedition."

"Which in a way it is," Calum answers.

"That kind of …. careful approach …... it won't work. You both know what Harry's like. He'll smell a rat."

"You're right, of course," Calum concedes.

"I think we should go to Dad's house – tonight after work -"

"I can't do it tonight or tomorrow night" Malcolm cuts in, "but I'm free Wednesday night."

"I'm not," says Calum.

"I think it best if it's just Catherine and me," Malcolm says quietly. "We've known him the longest, and I'm sure he trusts us. It's important that he believes us."

"I suppose so."

"I know so, Calum. Right now, Harry feels betrayed by life itself. It's important that he is open to accepting the truth."

* * *

London – Wednesday 14th August, 2013:

Despite Catherine having rung her father the night before to check that he'd be home after work the next day, she and Malcolm wait almost an hour, sitting outside in Malcolm's car, until Harry arrives home.

"Sorry I'm late," he says, unlocking the front door to let them in. "I was visiting Ruth's grave. I hadn't been for a while, and I …. needed to."

"How long is a while?" Malcolm asks as they sit at Harry's kitchen table while he makes them all a coffee.

"Over a month. I used to visit religiously each week, but since I've been seeing Roxy …..."

"You've forgotten about Ruth?" Catherine asks, her voice laced with judgement. As much as she likes and approves of Roxy, she prefers the idea of a long-term love affair, one conducted in and around the workplace. She'd never met Ruth, but she'd enjoyed the idea of her father having loved this woman for years with a steadfast and enduring love. It appealled to the romantic idealist in her.

"Of course not, Catherine. It's just that I've been so busy, and I haven't had the time." Harry sips his coffee, which is a little hot, so he then looks across the table to where his daughter and his former colleague sit, both appearing a little uncomfortable. "So …..." he says, wanting to hurry the evening along, so that he can settle in his chair with a whisky and talk to Roxy on the phone. "It's a while since I've seen either of you. To what do I owe this honour?"

Malcolm glances quickly at Catherine, and she nods at him. There's no way she's going to be the one to tell him. This is a job for Malcolm.

"There's no other way for me to say this," Malcolm begins, "so here goes …... I have evidence which shows that Ruth is alive …... visual evidence."

Harry's expression barely changes. He takes a moment to absorb Malcolm's words, takes a couple of deep breaths, and then he simply stares down at his mug of coffee, the fingers of one hand caressing the handle of the mug. It is almost a full minute before he speaks.

"I'm assuming you have brought with you ample evidence in support of your claims." His voice is deep, and his speech carefully controlled, each word clearly articulated.

Malcolm shuffles through the file he'd brought with him, wishing that he'd brought his electronic tablet, so that he could just pass it across the table, and allow Harry to look through the images on the screen. At last he finds the hard copies of the best of the still images from outside the coffee shop in Birchington-on-Sea, and he very carefully pushes them across the table towards Harry, who lays them out in front of him. Both Malcolm and Catherine watch Harry's face for any kind of emotional response, but there is none that they can see. They both know him well enough to recognise that he is using every one of his many techniques honed over a long career of having to hide his emotions from others.

After a couple of minutes spent staring at the four images on the table in front of him, Harry reaches out with one hand and draws each image closer. Sitting beside her, Malcolm feels very contained, but to Catherine, her father is balancing on a knife edge. She knows from past experience that when Harry is this calm, he is holding in a volcano of emotion. Another two minutes pass without a word being spoken. Harry still stares at the photographs, but this time he traces his fingertip over the face of the woman in each image. He does that with each image, and then when he has done it with the whole four, he goes back to the first one, and his finger traces the shape of her whole body. Then he sits back in his chair, his hands in his lap, his eyes never leaving the images on the table in front of him.

Around eight minutes have passed while Harry has wordlessly examined the evidence that Ruth Evershed is alive and well, and living in the south of England. Then he stands, pushing his chair back, and promptly leaves the room. Catherine and Malcolm look at one another helplessly as they hear Harry climb the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thank you for the reviews so far, and I am glad that this story is being enjoyed and appreciated by readers. I always enjoy reading speculation about certain outcomes which reviewers add in their reviews. Most of this fic is already written, so outcomes have already been determined. **_

* * *

London – Wednesday 14th August 2013:

Once Harry has disappeared upstairs Catherine and Malcolm remain sitting at the kitchen table.

"I guess he needs to be alone," Catherine observes, once they hear a door close above them.

Malcolm nods. "I suppose I should pour him a whisky for when he comes downstairs. I brought a fresh bottle, but I left it in the car."

Relieved to be able to escape the claustrophobic atmosphere in the room, Malcolm gets up and leaves the kitchen, and when Catherine hears the front door open, she wonders what her role is to be. Her father is in crisis – even if it's only temporary – and she is his daughter, and has been estranged from him for much of her life. Especially since Ruth's `death', she has formed a close bond with this intensely private and remote man, and she has found him to be warm and loving and loyal, even though there are parts of him which he has not, and possibly will never, share with her. His job has meant that there is far more to him than she can possibly imagine, and that is the way it must be, and will always be. It is clear to Catherine that Ruth was able to get beneath the veneer Harry puts around him to keep people at a distance. She wonders did Ruth claw and scratch her way in, or did she gradually and slowly draw Harry closer to her, gaining his trust and confidence, as though taming a frightened horse. Catherine suspects the latter. In some ways she may have Ruth to thank for Harry's preparedness to forge an adult relationship with her and her brother. She stands and takes the coffee mugs from the table, tipping the dregs of the coffee down the sink, and rinsing them under the tap. By the time she has the mugs upended on the dish drainer, Malcolm has returned to the kitchen, and has placed the unopened bottle of whisky in the middle of the table.

"I don't suppose you know where Harry keeps the glasses," he says, looking around the kitchen and seeing no sign of a whisky glass.

"On the sideboard in the living room, Malcolm. He always leaves a couple of glasses out. I think he and … I think they have a glass of something when she … visits." Catherine notices that Malcolm is struggling, and she reaches out and touches his arm.

"This is going to be a lot harder than I thought," Malcolm says quietly. "What say I pour us each a drink, and you can take one up to your father."

Once the drinks are poured, Catherine leaves her own glass on the table, and instructs Malcolm to sit and enjoy his drink. "I'll take Dad's up to him. I don't think he should be left on his own for too long."

At least fifteen minutes have passed since Harry had left the kitchen, and Catherine is worried about him. When she reaches the upper storey, she sees that Harry's office is empty, as is the spare room, the bathroom, and his bedroom, where she pokes her head around the door to see an unnaturally tidy and spartan room, the bed made, and no clothes left lying around. That leaves the en suite bathroom.

Catherine gently knocks on the door, and calls out. After knocking a second time the door is opened and Harry stands there. She has never before seen her father in the state he is now in. It is clear he's been crying, as his eyes are reddened, and she can still see a watery sheen in them. His expression is so sad that she has to force herself to not fling her arms around him. He will likely not welcome such open displays of emotion.

"I …. we were worried about you," she says, standing just the other side of the doorway from him. He has not invited her in. "Malcolm has brought a new bottle of something-or-other, and I thought you could do with one." Catherine lifts the glass of whisky, and hands it to Harry, who takes it, and smiles weakly.

"I've been a terrible host," he says, lifting his arm to indicate Catherine should step back into his bedroom. "Is Malcolm still downstairs?" he asks, as he indicates Catherine can sit on his bed, while he wearily lowers his body into the armchair near the bed.

For one horrible moment, Catherine is reminded that it is in this bed that he sometimes has sex with Roxy, and for a moment, she has difficulty even sitting on the bed. "Malcolm's fine, Dad. He has a bottle of whisky and a glass, and so he's happy for the moment. You gave us both a fright."

"I'm sorry," Harry takes a sip of his whisky before he continues. "I'm shattered by the news about Ruth."

"I know you are."

"In some ways, it's as bad as when she died. All I can think is if she survived the stabbing, why hasn't she contacted me? I couldn't have done ….. this …... to her." Harry gently places his glass on the bedside table, and rubs his forehead with the fingertips of one hand. It is a gesture which is familiar to Catherine – part worry, part frustration, part bone-numbing weariness. Her father needs a rest, a holiday. In her view, he needs to retire …... before his service to his country eats him alive.

Catherine looks down at her feet, while Harry removes his tie, and opens the top two buttons of his shirt. He'd taken off his jacket while downstairs, hanging it over the back of one of the kitchen chairs. It is when she hears a noise coming from him that she looks up to see him leaning back in the armchair, one hand over his eyes. Harry is sobbing. It is a quiet, but harrowing sound, and Catherine can't bear to simply sit and watch. She gets up, and walks the few steps to his chair, where she drops to the floor at his feet, and rubs her hand along his free arm. Her other hand rests on his knee. She knows he has to cry, and has probably not cried nearly enough since Ruth's `death'. She sits and rubs the skin of his forearm until he quietens. Then once his tears have stopped, she stands, reaches towards him, and wraps her arms around his shoulders.

"I'll do whatever you want me to do, Dad. I can be here in under half an hour if you need me. You shouldn't have had to go through this alone." When she feels Harry nod, she pulls back, and sits at his feet, one hand still on his knee. "Tell me about her, Dad. Tell me what it is you love about her."

Before he speaks, Harry takes a handkerchief from his pocket and wipes his eyes and blows his nose. "Right now I'm rather angry with her," he says, his voice husky. "She's in England and yet she hasn't tried to contact me. She's been alive for the past …... twenty-two months, and yet she couldn't pick up the phone …... drop me a quick email?"

"None of us know the circumstances of her living through the stabbing. She no doubt has her reasons." Catherine notices a smile beginning to form around Harry's mouth. "What? What's so funny?"

"Always the mediator, Catherine. You always see the good in others."

"Except you. I found it really hard to see the good in you, and I still need to know what it is you love about Ruth."

Harry sighs, and smiles weakly at his daughter. "Everything, Catherine. I love everything about her. She's warm and compassionate, and she's funny, and just when I thought I had her figured out, she could surprise me all over again. She's decent and kind, and a better person than I could ever hope to be. She's also incredibly stubborn … which I find annoying. She always sees the good in others. She's a lot like you."

Catherine smiles at her father's kind words. "Are you worried she'll be changed? Perhaps you've changed. I'm assuming you'll want to see her, and that Roxy will have to …. take a back seat."

This time Harry's sigh is heavier. "I've barely given Roxy a thought. This will affect her almost as much as it does me." Harry looks down, and flicks an imaginary piece of fluff from the leg of his trousers. "I care deeply for Roxy, but …... I don't care for her like I did Ruth. There may be some awkward times ahead."

"You should be used to awkward times, Dad. You've had enough of them."

* * *

Harry and Catherine take another half hour before they return downstairs to find Malcolm still sitting at the kitchen table, already on his second whisky. He had wondered should he just go home, leaving Harry and his daughter alone in the house. He has decided to stay because Harry will no doubt have questions, and he'll be the one who just may have the answers. Harry's questions begin almost the moment he sits down.

"I need to know a few things, Malcolm …... like where it is Ruth is staying, where she works, her hours of work, and her legend."

"You're planning to visit?"

"Of course. I thought I might take an early minute after work tomorrow."

"Then you'll need to know that she appears to be using the legend Anne Redden. She lives at this address." Malcolm pushes a sheet of A4 paper across the table towards Harry, who picks it up to see a copy of her passport as Anne Redden, and her address in Birchington-on-Sea, as well as the two addresses of her places of work – both in Birchington.

"I'm going to have to ring Roxy," Harry says quietly. "She needs to know what is happening. I owe her that. I have her to thank for keeping me from going completely off the rails."

"I'm sure there's a ….. good reason that Ruth left the country, Harry." The sentiment must be expressed, if only to bring Harry back from his earlier reaction of anger.

"Which is why I have to see her, Malcolm, and soon. I'm almost certain that the name William Towers will feature somewhere in her telling of this story."

Catherine and Malcolm leave soon after, and Harry takes his mobile phone from the pocket of his suit jacket and presses Roxy's number.

"This is a pleasant surprise." Her mellow tones reach his ears, and he is immediately soothed by them.

"I don't know how to say this, so I'll just come out and say it. Ruth is alive. The woman I thought I'd allowed to die is alive and well and living in Kent."

Harry is not surprised by the silence from the other end of the phone.

"How long have you known?" she asks at last, her voice surprisingly steady.

"Only a couple of hours." Harry fills Roxy in on the events of the evening. When he has finished she is silent. "Roxy? Say something."

"I don't know what to say, Harry, until I know what this means for me ….. for us."

"I can't answer that until I've seen Ruth. She may not even want to see me. After all, she's not even tried to contact me since I believed her to have died. I have no idea why she's back in the UK, but -"

"You're planning to see her, aren't you?"

"I'm going there after work tomorrow. I have to see her and talk to her. You must understand that."

"I do. In your shoes I'd be doing the same thing. Let me know how it goes, won't you, Harry, and ….. don't worry about me."

Harry has no idea how to answer her, so he says goodbye and ends the call. What should be a joyous and exciting occasion is fast turning sour for him. Still, he has no other option. He must seek out Ruth, There are too many questions to which he simply _must_ have answers.


	4. Chapter 4

Birchington-on-Sea – Thursday 15th August 2013:

Harry's first sight of Ruth in the twenty-two months since he'd last seen her was at once both unremarkable and unforgettable.

He had gone into work early, arranging for Erin to take over for him for a couple of days.

"Calum has already told me about Ruth," Erin had said with a rare smile. "I'm … very happy for you both."

"It might be a little early for congratulations, Erin. I have no idea if she'll want to see me, but I'd never sleep again if I didn't at least try to see her."

So he had given Erin his meetings to attend – one with the JIC, and the other with the Section Head of Secton A. "He has some beef about Section D not acknowledging the role of his officers when there was that dustup outside Grosvenor House. You'll have to flatter him a little, Erin. We might need them again one day soon."

"Politics," Erin had replied, wrinkling her nose. "Just what I need."

By the time Harry had driven out of the underground car park, and into the afternoon traffic, he began to feel a lightness of being the likes of which he'd not experienced since the night he and Ruth had made love. When he points his car southwards, he knows that he must do this. There is no alternative. When he reaches Birchington-on-Sea he books into his B&amp;B, and then walks back along Alpha Road to Station Road. There he waits at a table outside the cake shop, his eyes on the coffee shop across the road.

Harry almost misses the moment when Ruth leaves her place of work. He had been staring along the road, watching a young woman struggling to fit a folded pram into the boot of her car, wondering should he offer to help, when he senses rather than sees movement from across the road. It is definitely Ruth. He knows no-one else who walks with that degree of purpose. His plan had been to meet her as she stepped out of the coffee shop, but he'd already missed that moment. Malcolm has also told him that she works Saturday mornings at the dry cleaners, close to where he is sitting. Such mundane jobs for a clever woman like Ruth, but he is sure there is a reason for her choices.

When he notices her heading off along the pavement towards Alpha Road, Harry quickly crosses the street, and walks briskly to catch up with her.

"Anne …." he calls at last. She stops still, not turning, and very slowly Harry moves until he is right behind her right shoulder. "Anne?" he says again, and this time she turns – as if in slow motion – until she faces him, and looks into his eyes.

Harry cannot take his eyes from her. He feels himself sinking into the same eyes he'd believed had closed forever. Only the evening before he had visited her grave. Does she even know she is believed to be dead? "Ruth," he breathes, hoping he has communicated to her how difficult this moment is for him.

Ruth drops her eyes, something she'd always done when the air between them had become this heavily charged with responses unspoken. "You'd better come with me," she says quickly, briefly looking up at him, "and until we're inside it's best you call me Anne."

Nothing more is said until they enter Ruth's flat – one half of the downstairs of what once must have been a fine seaside home. Once inside, Ruth visibly relaxes, and after she hangs her coat over a hook just inside the door, she smiles at Harry, and indicates with her hand that he should follow her as she leads him to the back of her flat, to a small, but modern kitchen.

"Tea?" she asks, and Harry nods, sitting at the small table in the chair she indicates.

Harry watches her silently as she makes a pot of tea. He could do with something stronger, but perhaps it is too early in their reacquaintance for alcohol. He is just relieved to have been allowed into her home.

"I'm assuming you're here for at least the night, Harry." He nods his assent. "We can have fish and chips for supper from the fish shop on the corner. I'll have to order them myself, because I get special treatment. I think Enzo is sweet on me." Ruth looks up at Harry and smiles as she pours tea into his cup. When Ruth eventually sits in the chair opposite Harry, she sugars and milks her tea, stirs it with a spoon, and then looks up at the man opposite her. "I'm assuming you have a few things to say to me."

"I do." Harry places his cup carefully in the saucer, hoping that he has successfully hidden the trembling in his fingers. "This time yesterday I left work early to visit your grave. I sat on a bench nearby, and contemplated what could have been ….. should have been." Feeling his composure slipping, Harry sighs heavily, and stops speaking.

"I'm ….. very sorry you have had to endure that, Harry. I knew you'd be ….."

"I've been devastated, Ruth. For almost two years I've grieved your death, while all the time you've been -"

"Working for the CIA."

"_What_?"

"In a nutshell, Harry, once it was clear that I would recover from my injury, I was flown to the US, and I worked for the CIA …... under heavy electronic surveillance and restrictions."

"Ruth …... _why_? Why did they take you?"

"Do you mean that you have no idea why you were not extradited to the US? Did you not ask someone why? Where was your curiosity?"

"Towers said that the CIA had changed their minds."

"Harry …. they considered capturing me and putting me to work for them as an analyst of far more value than grabbing you and throwing you in a cell to rot for the rest of your days."

Her words hit Harry like a punch directed firmly at his solar plexus. He sits back in his chair as though slapped. "_Jesus_," is all he is able to say, the word sliding into the air between them.

"You didn't know?"

"Ruth …... I had no idea. I didn't question Towers' reasons. I wasn't seeing anything clearly at the time. You'd just died – or so I believed – and nothing in my world made any sense. Had he said the CIA wanted me to dance for the President I wouldn't have questioned it."

"But surely you'd have questioned the President's tastes."

Seeing a smile on Ruth's face, Harry smiles back. Then as quickly as it reaches his features, the smile disappears. "It happened again, didn't it?"

"_It_?"

"You, Ruth. You sacrificed yourself so that I could continue working for MI5." Harry passes one palm down his face in a gesture of shame and defeat.

"Apart from me not having a lot of choice in the matter, yes, that is what happened."

Harry sits in his chair and looks across the small kitchen table towards this woman whom he has thought of many times daily since he'd believed her to have died. How is it possible for one small woman to have sacrificed herself – by faking her death _twice_ – so that he could continue to fight the good fight, which he has known for some time is not as good as he'd once believed it was. Ruth has spent close to five years of her precious and valuable life in saving his arse. It should never have happened the first time, and so the fact that it has happened all over again, and this time without his knowledge, is almost too much for him to bear. He leans forward, his forehead resting on one hand, so that his face is hidden from Ruth. Were he not to do that he'd surely have to at the very least punch a wall.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

He looks up at her, his eyes blazing. "_You're_ sorry! Jesus Christ, Ruth, were William Towers not already a sick man, I'd look him up and tear out his heart …... assuming he has one."

"Yes, well …... I'm not sure William had much say in the matter. He was already over a barrel with the PM, and the CIA representatives in London were jumping up and down wanting your neck on a block. Towers agreed to them taking me in your stead because he'd already been bragging to anyone who'd listen at Grosvenor House about my skills. My tenure with them was only ever going to be temporary, and my task was not open-ended." Ruth takes a sip of her tea. "Of course I knew none of this at the time, due to my being unconscious."

"Why didn't you at least contact me once you got to the US?"

"Every one of my electronic communications was monitored. I find it hard to believe they had people monitoring my communications both in and out of my office and my home – if a tiny one-bedroom flat could be termed a home. I was free to leave, but as soon as I did so, they'd have arrested you, and I couldn't allow that." Ruth hesitates while Harry again passes a hand across his face. "I wanted to contact you, but …... I also didn't want to put you in danger. To keep you free, I had to …... let you go."

Again Harry sits back in his chair, feeling worse and worse with each sentence Ruth speaks.

"You wanted to know, Harry. I'm just telling it the way it was."

"I know. How long have you been back in the UK?"

"Around three months. I was let go in late March, and I arrived back in London in mid May, after wending my way through Europe. It took me a while to ... learn again how it feels to be free." She hesitates, looking up at him. Harry has barely touched his tea. "If I had something stronger, Harry, I'd get it out right now, because you may not want to hear what I have to say next."

"You've met someone …... is that what you're saying?"

"No. I haven't. Let me tell you about my first night back in London. On leaving the US I was given a rather healthy pay cheque. I hadn't expected them to pay me, but I wasn't about to complain about it. Among other things, I helped them isolate and identify a Russian cell in central Washington, which was the chief reason they were after my skills. They'd not been able to discover how so much of what went on in the White House was getting back to Moscow. For some reason no-one else had even suspected the Russians had infiltrated several business contractors which served the White House. Once I reached London, I booked myself into a hotel, and then at around the time I thought you'd be getting home from work, I drove my rental car to your house, parked across the road, and waited."

"Why didn't you telephone me? Surely you remembered by mobile phone number. You could have rung me at work."

Ruth watched his face for a long few seconds, waiting for him to remember. "Eventually you came home. It was late ….. after 10.30. I thought how dedicated you still were, and I felt this surge of pride in you. I watched as you got out of your car, and then I watched as you helped a woman out of the passenger side, and then I watched as you both went inside. I waited outside for her to leave, but a little before midnight, I watched as the downstairs lights were turned off, and your bedroom light turned on."

"Ruth -"

"I hadn't expected you'd move on so quickly, Harry. While I was working for the CIA, all I could think about was you, and when they'd finished with me, I'd be able to get back to you."

"Ruth."

"What? It looked quite clear to me, Harry. You took a woman home to your house, and you then took her upstairs to the same bed in which you and I had made love." Ruth then notices the wretched look on Harry's face.

"Ruth …... I believed you to be dead. I hadn't wanted anyone else. I still don't. But I needed comfort, human contact, companionship, and to be honest, I also needed sex." Harry is aware he is getting worked up, but as soon as he speaks the next sentence, he wishes he could take it back. "At least now you know how I felt when you came back from Cyprus with a lover in tow."


	5. Chapter 5

Birchington-on-Sea – Thursday 15th August 2013:

As soon as the words leave Harry's mouth, he wants them back, safe and unspoken. Ruth has stood and quickly covers the short distance between the table and the sink, where she stands, staring through the window. "Perhaps you should go now," she says quietly, and Harry is aware that his words have hurt her.

Harry quietly gets to his feet and takes a couple of steps towards her, still keeping his distance. "I shouldn't have said that, Ruth -"

"No. You shouldn't."

"But I was hurt when you had a man – a lover – while you were in exile. I only kept seeing Roxy because I was lonely, and I missed ... what we'd planned to have."

Ruth slowly turns towards Harry, leaning her back against the sink. "Do you love her?"

"In a way. I love the way she looks after me. I love it that she cares for me, even though I'm not a very good partner to her."

"But do you love her?"

"I do, but not in the way I loved you."

"Loved?"

"We're both different people now, Ruth. You've had to fend for yourself, while I've been grieving your death. We can't simply step back into being the way we were the day Sasha Gavrik stabbed you."

Ruth sighs heavily, looking around her kitchen as if seeing it for the first time. She notices the tea towel flung over the edge of the sink, and she grabs it, and stuffs it into a drawer next to the cooker.

"Ruth …... that night in May when you sat outside my house and watched as I arrived home with Roxy ….. that was the first night I invited her to stay at my house. I hadn't been able to take her there …... and be with her in the same bed in which we'd made love. I did it because I needed to move on …... to spend my time with the living, rather than the dead. Taking that step …... it made me feel alive again."

Ruth nods, the fire having left her. To Harry, she appears to be resigned to the way things are. "This is the one thing I feared happening, and it's the reason I'm living here – away from London. I just couldn't …... see you, or talk to you …... not after seeing you take another woman upstairs."

"I …. believed ….. you'd died."

"I know that, but I can't help the way I feel."

Harry steps away, and stands behind the chair he'd been sitting in. It is then that he realises that he and Ruth haven't yet touched, and he really wants to touch her …... to determine that she's real. "Perhaps I should go back to my B&amp;B," he says, "but I'm not leaving and going back to London. Not yet. We haven't finished with one another, Ruth."

"Haven't we?" She looks and sounds weary.

"No," he says, slowly shaking his head, his eyes holding hers. "I think we've …. said enough for one night. I don't want either of us to say anything else which might hurt the other. I don't wish to hurt you, Ruth."

"I know." She smiles wanly.

"I'd like to see you tomorrow if I may. After you finish work? Once we've slept on it, things might appear ... different ... clearer."

Ruth nods.

"At 5 o'clock?"

"It's Friday tomorrow. I begin at 1 and finish at 7. I'll be home by 10 past 7."

"I saw an Indian restaurant on Station Road. I'll bring the food, and some wine."

"I can get the wine, Harry."

"You're providing the house, so I'll bring the food _and_ the wine."

"Alright. That sounds …. nice."

"I'll go now …... get out of your hair."

Ruth nods, then as Harry turns to leave, she calls him back. "Harry …... would you kiss me ….. please?"

An olive branch. That is what he has been waiting for from her, ever since she'd told him about having seen him and Roxy enter his house and stay there. He turns to face her. He knows her well enough to recognise a peace offering. Very slowly he steps towards her while she takes a few steps away from the sink and towards him. When they are almost touching, Ruth puts her hand against his chest, and he briefly closes his eyes as he enjoys the warmth which radiates from her palm. He then opens his eyes to see a worried look on her face.

"Are you alright?" she whispers.

"Yes. I'm ….."

And then he leans down and places his lips on hers. It is a chaste kiss, a gentle kiss, and it only lasts a few seconds before he is the one to pull away. He finds that he has placed his hand on her hip, and that in the time between the kiss beginning and then ending, Ruth has slid both her hands under the lapels of his jacket and both her palms rest against his chest, with only the fabric of his shirt separating skin from skin. He smiles into her eyes, and then she quickly reaches up to kiss him again.

"We'll be alright, Harry," she says. "I didn't go through another period of exile only to throw you out of my life. That would be …."

"Pointless."

"I was thinking more of cruel …. to both of us."

Harry nods, and then steps away from her, breaking contact with her. He doesn't wish to be pushing his luck. "I'll see you tomorrow," he says.

On the way back to his B&amp;B he buys fish and chips from the shop on the corner of Ruth's street. He eyes off Enzo – much younger than he, and possibly younger than Ruth, swarthy, quite good-looking – and decides that Enzo is no threat at all. He'll bet everything he owns that Ruth has never asked Enzo to kiss her.

Margate – Friday 16th August 2013:

Harry spends the next day in Margate. He'd been there once or twice as a child, and then when his own children were small, he'd taken the family there for a week one July. It had been during a time when he and Jane were living almost separate lives, and the trip to the seaside had been his attempt at building bridges. One afternoon he'd taken the children to the beach to give Jane a break from them, but had lost track of time, so that by the time he got them back to their rental apartment, both children had been badly sunburned. Rather than building bridges, that holiday had set fire to any bridge-building.

Harry walks along the promenade, breathing in the sea air. It is wonderful to get out of London. It is freeing to be wearing something other than a suit and tie. It is delightful to have a recent memory of kissing Ruth to keep him going throughout the day. He considers visiting the Turner Gallery, but he'd rather do that in Ruth's company. It is joyous to once again have something rich and real to look forward to.

And that thought reminds him of Roxy. Did she not make him happy? Did he not look forward to seeing her? Was his relationship with her worth getting out of bed for? He has no clear answers to any of these questions, so he decides to ring her. She spends most of her day in the office at Waterfield Security, so she should be free to speak to him.

"How did it go?" she asks him warily, without offering any kind of greeting.

"It's still going. I'm in Margate for the day, and I'm seeing Ruth again tonight …. for dinner."

"And …. afterwards?"

"That's entirely up to Ruth."

"But you'll definitely be up for it."

"Of course I will. I've never kept from you my feelings for Ruth."

"Then why are we having this conversation?"

Harry hesitates. He hadn't seen Roxy as jealous or vindictive. Roxy is calm ... and wise ... and reasonable. One of the many things he admires about her is her ability to rise above a difficult situation and to see it for what it is. "Because I still care about you," he replies.

"We'll see. Ring me when you get back to London, Harry. I don't require a blow-by-blow description of your time with Ruth. Just a final decision will suffice." And then she hangs up.

Harry takes his phone from his ear, and holds it away from him, looking at the screen, finding it hard to believe what had just happened. It wasn't like Roxy to behave in such a way. She is a woman who handles everything with maturity, wisdom and aplomb. He sits for a while, looking out to sea, soothed by the sight of the ocean, the blue sky above, and the regular squawking of the seagulls, which are now approaching him for food. He distracts himself from the phone call to Roxy by breaking off pieces of crust from his bread roll filled with ham salad. He watches, fascinated, as the same seagull swoops in and takes the bread from the others. If he deliberately throws a scrap of bread at the feet of one of the shy birds, the boss bird screeches, its wings back, its head protruding forward as it hones in on the other birds, attempting to scare them off. _Just like Parliament_, he thinks.

He is still feeding the gulls when he decides to ring Ruth. The last thing they had done before he'd left her flat the night before had been to exchange mobile phone numbers.

"Harry? Is something wrong?"

"No. Nothing's wrong. I'm in Margate, and I'm feeding the gulls. You know how one bird is always more aggressive than the others, and it gets all the scraps of food?"

"Yes, of course."

"I have one at my feet right now, and you'd never guess who it looks like."

"Who?"

"William Towers. If he had a beak, he'd look just like this bird."

Ruth giggles, a very girly kind of laugh, and Harry feels warm all over. "You rang me just to tell me that you've found a gull which resembles the former Home Secretary?"

"No, Ruth. I'm ringing you just to hear your voice, to check that you're really alive, and that tonight's dinner at your place is still on."

"Of course it's still on. Now let me get ready for work. I have to leave home in ten minutes."

They then say goodbye, and Harry can't stop smiling. He even breaks the remaining bread crust into three pieces and flings them away from him, on to the lawn which runs beside the pavement. He laughs aloud when the same aggressive bird manages to get two of the three pieces of crust. "You'll go far, William," he says to the bird.

"When ya give `em names, son, it's a sure sign o' madness."

Harry turns to see a very old man has sat on the end of his bench, his twinkling eyes smiling. "It's a very long time since anyone's called me `son'," he says, smiling back at the man.

"I heard ya on the phone to the lady. She's a good 'un, that one."

"How on earth do you know that?"

"I watched yer face as yer spoke to `er. The love shines outta ya, son, when yer speak to `er. Hang on to `er."

"I intend to."

"Wife, is she?"

"No, not yet, but she's very special to me. I thought I'd lost her."

"Don't do anythin' stupid, son. Wimmin don't appreciate stupid men. They're cleverer'n us, see? They pretend we're the clever ones, but everyone knows that's just the game we play."

Normally Harry will avoid a spontaneous conversation with a stranger, but this man interests him. "You're a northerner."

"Rotherham born `n bred, son."

"Are you married?"

"Not any more. She ran off wi' me brother, but she were special while she were mine."

Harry nods, not knowing whether to believe him. Suddenly, the old man unwinds himself and gets to his feet, gives Harry a casual wave of his hand, and continues along the promenade. Harry is sure that he hears the man say, "That Towers feller were an idiot," but he can't be certain. Harry suppresses the urge to laugh aloud. He can't remember the last time he'd felt this happy.


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: Things approach M rating in this chapter, but don't quite get there, so rating stays the same.**_

* * *

Birchington-on-Sea – Friday 16th August 2013:

When he gets back to his B&amp;B Harry showers, shampoos his hair, and shaves. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, a towel wrapped around his waist, while he examines his image. For a man approaching 60 he is not all that bad. He knows he had lost quite a lot of weight in the months following Ruth's `death', and since spending time with Roxy, he has gained only a few pounds. He will never again have the body he had at 40, but that's the way it is. The one and only time Ruth had seen him naked he'd not been in the best shape of his life, and she had worshipped his body with her fingers and her mouth. He'd apologised for the flabbiness around his middle, and she had said, "Shut up, Harry, and kiss me." That had been a special evening, their desperation for one another highlighted by his uncertain future, their eyes perceiving the other as unflawed and near perfect.

He dresses in black slacks, a pale blue shirt, and a summer weight dark grey jacket. He takes one last look at himself in the cheval mirror in his bedroom, and decides that his appearance is about as good as it can be, given his many limitations.

When he knocks on Ruth's front door, Indian meal in a bag in one hand, and two bottles of wine in a bag in the other, she opens the door almost immediately.

"You're on time, as usual, Harry. I should have asked you to come a bit later. I still need to shower and change."

Harry enters her flat, and leans over to give her a quick kiss. "I can wait," he says. "Where shall I put these?"

Ruth shows him how to use the oven, and indicates the wine can go in the refrigerator for now.

When Ruth comes back into the living area, Harry can't take his eyes from her. It has been a warm day, and it is a mild evening. Ruth wears a pale blue sleeveless summer dress, with straps over her shoulders and leather sandals on her feet. He can see she is braless, and he feels a slight stirring in his groin at the possibility that this evening may end with him once again tasting the skin under the fabric of her dress.

"Close your mouth, Harry," she says. When he lifts his eyes to hers he can see that she is smiling. So far, so good.

She leads him through to the kitchen, and hands him a bottle of wine to open and pour, while she takes the foil containers of the Indian meal from the oven, and places them on a heat proof mat in the middle of the table. Then she puts dinner plates in front of them, along with a selection of cutlery before sitting down opposite him. Harry smiles across the space between them. This is nice. A domestic interlude with Ruth. No matter what happens next, he will have shared this evening with her.

While they eat, Harry fills Ruth in on the goings on in MI5.

"You do realise that I have had a degree of knowledge of everything you've told me," Ruth says, between mouthfuls of the excellent Chardonnay. "One of my jobs while in the US was to keep tabs on MI5."

"Yes, but you would not have had the luxury of context, Ruth."

"True. And how is my replacement? Justin? Jason?"

"Josh Greenaway, as you no doubt already know. He's on secondment from GCHQ …... as you once were."

"Is he good?"

"Not as good as you, but he'll do."

"Harry ….."

"Yes?"

"What happens to me if I come back to live in London?"

"What do you want to have happen, Ruth?"

"I don't know. I don't want to analyse another thing. I did enough analysis while in the US to last me a lifetime. You're almost 60, and you must be considering retiring."

"What are you saying, Ruth?"

"It's just that ….. before I was stabbed, I can remember you agreeing to leave the service and live with me …. in my cottage."

"I suspect that cottage is gone, but I'm sure there are other cottages."

Ruth doesn't answer immediately. She watches Harry for a moment. "I …. thought you might have bought that cottage. I even hoped you might already be living in it. While in the US I imagined you living in it."

"I thought about buying it. I even went to look at it. I couldn't, Ruth. Had I retired on my own to live in that cottage, I would have drunk myself to death by now."

Ruth has no answer to that. She may have been in exile for almost eighteen months, but at least she'd known all along that Harry was still alive.

"Ruth …... we have to spend some time getting to know one another again …... before we can decide whether we have a future together. When we are sure we do – and I really hope we do - _then_ we can decide the where and the when and the how."

"And you'll have to choose between me and Roxy." This time it is Ruth who wants her words back. "I'm sorry, Harry. I wish I hadn't said that."

"There is no decision to be made there, Ruth. It will always be you."

"Have you told her that?"

"Not in so many words." Harry looks down at his plate, now almost empty. "I ... rang her today."

"And?"

"I told her I was staying another night ... to spend time with you."

"And I'm sure she took that well," Ruth says, her voiced laced with sarcasm.

"Not very well, no. She hung up on me."

"As would I have done, Harry. Can't you see how cruel that was?"

"I ... I suppose so. She told me she wanted me to let her know ... how things went with you. I hadn't expected her to be so angry."

"Why? She already knows you'd rather be with me than with her. No woman wants to be rung just to be reminded of that."

Harry sits back and takes a sip of wine, his eyes focused upon Ruth's face. "I thought she and I were ... close companions who had sex."

"That's what _you_ thought. I suspect she had other ideas, regardless of what she'd told you." Harry frowns, his expression one of confusion. "Any woman staying with a man who is still getting over his ex - dead or alive - is waiting for him to learn to love her more than he loves the memory of his ex-loved one. She's not with him to help him get back with his ex. Roxy is hurt, Harry, and possibly rather pissed off with you."

"So I owe her an apology."

"At the very least. Perhaps dinner would be a good idea, although I'm not sure she'd want to sit across a dinner table from you, knowing you'd rather be with me."

"Flowers?"

"That might make _you_ feel better, but I'm not sure she'll be happy with that."

"I can't believe you feel this strongly about a woman you've never met."

"I've been dumped before, Harry. It's humiliating. Roxy knows she's being dumped, and her natural response is to fight it."

"I've been dumped, too. It's par for the course for me."

Ruth thinks: _why does that not surprise me_, but chooses to keep the observation to herself.

The subject of Roxy is closed, and once the meal is eaten, Harry opens the second bottle of wine - a Sauvignon Blanc, which he knows is just a fancy name for white burgundy – and they move into the living room and sit side by side on the sofa, the wine and their glasses on the coffee table only an arm's length away. Harry turns and rests his arm along the back of the sofa, inviting Ruth to slide closer to him, close enough for their bodies to be touching.

For a while they sit in quiet companionship, sipping their wine. There is still much to be said, but it can wait.

"It's supposed to rain tonight," Ruth says, as much to break the silence as to inform.

"That's good," Harry replies. He keeps his eyes on her, and when she lifts her face to look at him, he can't stop himself. He reaches down to place a soft kiss on her lips.

"Where is this headed, Harry?" she says, once the kiss has ended.

"Wherever you want it to," he answers obliquely. "You must know what I want to have happen."

Ruth nods as she reaches across and glances a fingertip across the back of his hand – back and forth, back and forth. Harry is mesmerised, and his whole body begins to tingle with anticipation. He grasps her hand, and then again leans in for the next kiss. The kiss is longer, and their mouths open so that they can explore inside one another's mouths. The kiss feels familiar, exciting, a prelude to something more intimate. Harry feels his body stirring, and he pulls away. This should not be happening so fast.

Ruth pulls back from him, her face serious. "There's something I should have told you yesterday," she says. "I wasn't going to tell you, but you have a right to know."

"Ruth, if you've been with someone else, I understand. We've been apart a long time."

"It's not that. It's us. It's what we did together that night in your house. There were …... consequences."

"Consequences?" Harry is confused at first, but then the penny drops for him. "Ruth …... you were _pregnant_?"

She nods, but her expression is still serious, even sad. "I only found out once I reached Washington, and a doctor did some blood tests. By that time I was around 5 weeks pregnant."

"So, what happened to …... ?"

"I was both devastated and elated. The doctor assured me that my medical needs would be taken care of, and that I'd be able to keep the baby and care for it myself. When I was asked about the father of my child, I said I'd had a one-night stand, and I wasn't planning to see him again." Seeing the wave of pain passing across Harry's face, Ruth quickly continues. "I was protecting you, Harry. I was protecting our child. Once I knew about it, I so desperately wanted that child. The best of you and the best of me ….. it would have been a wonderful child."

"Would have?"

"I miscarried. Nothing caused it as such. The doctor said it may have been because of the drugs I'd had to take after I was stabbed. I wanted it so badly, but it didn't stay in my body. At nine weeks I began bleeding, and then I had cramps. I ….. I lost our baby." Ruth can say no more. She is having to re-live the loss, and this time she is living through it with her baby's father. She looks up at him to see tears in his eyes.

"I needed to have been there with you, Ruth. I am so, so sorry."

He reaches both arms around her and pulls her against him. Ruth has already cried all the tears she can for her loss, but Harry hasn't. They hold one another for a long time. Ruth can hear the distant rumbling of thunder as Harry holds her tightly against him, while he rubs his palm up and down her back. When he relaxes his hold on her and pulls away a little, he then reaches down to kiss her. It is not a passionate kiss, but is one of reverence. Ruth reaches around his neck and pulls him closer to her. This time the kiss is passionate, and deep and loving and tender. Harry turns a little on the sofa, pulling Ruth against him, so that he can feel her breasts against his chest. At that same moment they hear a clap of thunder, loud and right above them.

"Bloody hell, that scared me," he says, quickly pulling out of the kiss, but still holding Ruth close. He has left his jacket hanging over the back of a chair in the kitchen. They have both tossed their shoes aside, and now he can feel Ruth's fingers pushing between the buttons of his shirt in search of bare skin. "I'm happy for you to undo my buttons, Ruth," he says, smiling.

"All of them?" She looks up at him mischievously.

"If you're referring to my trouser buttons, then yes, I'm happy for you to undo them also."

"You see," she says cheekily, "I suspect your trousers might be a bit tight on you, so I'm offering to loosen them."

"As a favour."

"Yes …. just as a favour … to you."

"Then, perhaps I can loosen your dress for you. It looks rather tight around your …. chest."

"Yes, I suspect my breasts have increased in size in the last half hour."

Another clap of thunder has Ruth burrowing close to Harry's chest, her nose pressed against the flesh of his neck. "God, you smell wonderful," she breathes against his skin. Very slowly Ruth pushes her fingers behind one of the buttons on Harry's shirt. Quickly and skillfully she opens that button, and then she slowly moves onto the next button, until Harry's shirt is open all the way down the front. Very slowly, Ruth moves her hand down to the top button of Harry's trousers, but before she can go any further he grabs her fingers in his, and pulls them up to his lips. As he kisses her fingertips he looks into her eyes, just as another clap of thunder crashes overhead. Ruth again pushes her face into his neck.

"Does this flat have a bedroom, Ruth?"

"Is that you way of asking me can you stay the night?"

"I don't wish to get caught in the storm. Besides, I'd much rather stay here."

Ruth stands and reaches out to take his hand, and then leads him to her bedroom. As she closes the bedroom door behind them, the clouds open, and rain splashes on the pavement outside the house. Soon the gutters overflow, and water streams down the outside of the window pane. Harry is busy sliding the straps of Ruth's dress down her arms, and reacquainting himself with the taste of her skin, her breasts, her nipples hardening against his tongue, while Ruth manages to open every single button on Harry's clothing, and then the zipper on his trousers. "At last," she says, sliding her hand inside his underwear and wrapping her hand around him. She is as gentle with him that night as she had been almost two years before. He gasps, and then breathes more easily as he remembers her touch from before. Everything from that moment on is down to memory. It's been almost two years, but for them it feels like two days.

By the time the storm abates, an hour has passed and they are both asleep, two heads close together, fingers stilled at last, their bodies satisfied. They know they only have a few hours together until Harry must return to London.


	7. Chapter 7

Birchington-on-Sea – Saturday 17th August 2013:

Ruth is woken by the touch of soft lips on her cheek. She turns towards them and sees Harry, fully dressed, leaning close to her. "Ohh," she complains sleepily. "I was hoping for …..."

"A repeat of last night?" he asks playfully, settling himself on the bed next to her, leaning in and kissing her on the lips.

"At least," Ruth mumbles between quick kisses, which end with Harry burying his face into the curve of her neck, nibbling at her skin. "You can't leave marks, Harry. However will I explain them? The people I work with think I'm a boring old spinster."

Harry sits up and looks down at her with lazy eyes. "Tell them you have a lover who breaks into your house during the night, ravishes you until you can barely walk, and then disappears when the sun comes up."

"I think I once read a book with a plot similar to that," she teases, smiling. "I take it you're due back at work this morning."

"I am, but I'd much rather be here with you. When can I come back, Ruth?"

"It's a bit far to travel just for a night of passion. I don't work Mondays and Tuesdays, but you do."

"I'll see what I can arrange. I'd suggest you come back to London and live with me, but it would be boring for you, with nothing to do during the day."

"I don't know about that. I could wallow in the bath all day, pampering myself for when you get home."

"You'd soon tire of that."

"I know." Ruth lies back against her pillow, and watches him as he closes the two buttons on his shirt which she'd only just opened.

"I can't turn up at work looking like I spent all night in a shag fest."

"If only." Ruth moves to get out of bed, but Harry puts a hand on her arm.

"Stay there," he says. "There's no need for you to see me out."

"You're going now?"

"It's almost 6 o'clock. I should be on the Grid by 8 at the latest."

They both avoid the very thing they most want to talk about. Ruth, however, feels they must address it face to face. "When, Harry? When will we see one another again? You managed to get here in an instant when you wanted to see me, but now you've seen me …. and slept with me ….. when will I see you again?"

Harry internally winces at her words. He wants to argue with her, but he knows there is also truth in what she says. "I didn't come here expecting sex, Ruth."

"I know. I wasn't implying you were. I was just ..."

"Testing me?" Ruth nods, a little embarrassed. "I can't say when we'll see one another again, but I'll try to have either Monday or Tuesday off. I don't wish to leave you here on your own for too long."

This time Ruth swings her legs out of bed, and quickly covers her nakedness with her bathrobe. She stands close to him, and he takes the bait and slides his hands under her bathrobe and around her waist. She presses her body against him. She is sure she can feel a stirring below his waist. "If you're going to get to work before midday, I'd suggest you leave now."

Harry kisses her quickly, and then turns to leave. Within twenty minutes he has booked out of his B&amp;B and is on the road towards London. He feels a deep sadness at having to leave Ruth behind, but for now, that is the best option they have available to them.

* * *

Harry's day on the Grid passes quickly, with very little time for him to think about Ruth and worry about her. Just after 4 o'clock he rings Roxy at work, suggesting they meet for coffee at a coffee shop not far from her house. She agrees, although he can hear the coolness in her voice. He has deliberately chosen to meet for coffee at 5.30, rather than dinner at 7.30, and he hopes she can read into that code what he is about to tell her.

She has read it loud and clear. Harry arrives around five minutes late, and yet Roxy is not there. He waits for over half an hour, but she does not show. He is now the one receiving the message …. also loud and clear. Feeling annoyed with her for standing him up, he rings her mobile, only to have the call go straight through to voice mail. He'd rather explain to her face to face his decision to not see her again, and he'd also wanted to thank her for rescuing him from himself at a time in his life when he'd needed someone to care about him. He decides to leave no message, and hangs up.

He pays the bill and leaves the coffee shop, not seeing the woman sitting in an unfamiliar car across the street, covertly watching him as he strides to his car. Roxy Waterfield is hurt, and she does not take rejection well. All the same, she wants just one last look at the man who had made her feel like a woman worth loving. It had been wonderful while it lasted, but she had known all along that Harry Pearce was just too good to be true. She envies his Ruth, wherever she is.

* * *

After leaving the coffee shop, Harry heads back to work to put in another 3 hours, most of which is spent doing paperwork. Before he again addreses the pile of reports left on his desk by Grid staff, he goes online and orders a bouquet of flowers, along with an accompanying note of thanks and apology, and has them sent to Roxy at her home address. He knows it's a cop-out - an easy way to alleviate any residual guilt he feels - but it's clear she will not talk to him. He can't leave things as they are, so flowers it is. He suspects she'll throw them in the bin without reading the note, and for that he can't blame her. Apology flowers are not the same as I-love-you flowers. Jane had taught him that. Their bin at home had been a regular recipient of flowers he'd sent her in apology. Were he in Roxy's shoes, he too would be hurt and angry.

Earlier in the day he had spoken to Erin Watts, who had agreed to him working each Saturday and Sunday, leaving Monday, and even some Tuesdays free to visit Ruth in Kent. Harry is excited by the prospect, but before he can ring Ruth with the news, he rings his daughter.

"Catherine? It's Dad."

"I know that. It says so on my phone's display. Look, as much as I'd love to talk with you, I'm on a date, and I'd like to make a reasonable impression on the man concerned."

"Anyone I know?"

"I'll call you later." And then she had hung up.

Harry sits looking at his phone, wondering what it is about him that people don't wish to talk to him. It is just past 8 pm when he rings Ruth's mobile. It rings and rings, and eventually he is able to leave a voice mail. He is only mildly worried about her not answering the phone. Ruth is hardly the kind of woman to be waiting by the phone for a man to call. She may even have forgotten he was planning to ring her. Ten minutes later his mobile phone rings.

"Harry …. it's me. I was in the shower when you rang. I put in a full day at work today, and I have to work from 10 until 7 tomorrow."

"I wish I'd known you were in the shower. One of these days you should take the phone to the bathroom and put it on speaker phone, and I can then -"

"_Harry_!"

"What?"

"You're talking about phone sex, aren't you?"

"Yes. What's wrong with that?"

"Here was I thinking you're a nice, conservative man who always has sex in a bed every Friday night."

"You must be thinking of someone else, Ruth." Ruth giggles, and he feels his body responding to the tone of her voice. He never had this response when he spoke on the phone to Roxy. He sits up straight, and takes a deep breath. "I spoke to Erin today. She is encouraging me to see you regularly. Her words were something like: `Happy Section Head, happy section'. I've offered to work each weekend, so that I can spend Mondays, and - as often as I can – Tuesdays with you in Kent. I'll drive down each Sunday night, and come back either Tuesday or Wednesday morning. There's not a lot on at the moment, and Erin has agreed to take my meetings when they fall early in the week. Of course, there may be occasions when I can't get away at all."

"That's wonderful, Harry. You'll be here tomorrow night?"

"Wild horses can't keep me away."

They chat for a little longer before he hears Ruth stifling a yawn.

"Harry, if I'm to greet you tomorrow night with the passion you've come to expect, I need my beauty sleep."

"Alright. I understand. I'll let you go."

They take another few minutes over their goodnights, and then they agree to not speak again until Harry arrives after work the next evening.

* * *

Harry has settled on the sofa, BBC News playing on the TV in the background, a glass of whisky beside him on the small table, and his laptop resting on his knees. With one part of his brain he listens to the world news, while with another he checks his personal email. When his mobile phone rings, he notices that it is 11.17 pm. He prays that it is not work.

"Dad …." his daughter's voice greets him, "you're up late."

"As are you, sweetheart," he says gently. "Is something wrong?"

"Don't you want to know about my date?"

"Whenever I've asked you questions about boyfriends in the past, you've always growled at me, so as curious as I am, I'm not about to ask."

"How was Ruth? Was she pleased to see you?"

"Eventually."

"You stayed away two nights, Dad. Something must have gone right."

"If you say so."

"Calum said you were almost glowing today."

"Calum? When did you see him?"

"Oops. I've said too much already."

_Oops? Since when does Catherine say Oops_? "Your date was Calum? Are you completely out of your mind? For a start, he's years older than you." Harry can feel his voice getting louder as he imagines giving his precious daughter away at her marriage to Calum Bloody Reid. _Over my dead body_!

"This is the very reason I never tell you about my dates. He's only five years older than me. Tell me again the age difference between you and Ruth?"

_Tou-bloody-ch__é._ Trust his clever daughter to pick up on that one. "He's a spy."

"So are you."

"Do you love him?"

"Define love. I dare you."

"Alright, alright. I agree that's none of my business, and it's a stupid question."

"Do you love Ruth?"

"Of course I love her."

"Define what that means."

"I can't. I just know it. I would give my life to save hers, just as I would give my life to save yours."

"Well, I have no desire to do that for Calum, so no, I guess I don't love him, and as annoying as I find him, he makes me laugh."

"Alright, but if he hurts you, I'll be recommending the death sentence for him."

"Oh, Dad …."

"What?"

"I'm tougher than that."

"I know you are, sweetheart. Just don't let him hurt you. If he treats you badly, I'll sack him, or send him to the Middle East."

"I didn't know MI5 had agents in the Middle East."

"They don't, but I can easily create a new position ….. just for him. Do you like him?"

"Yes. I do. We've spent the last eighteen months fighting, but we discovered only a few days ago – the night you found out Ruth was still alive – that we had simply misunderstood one another. He's quite sweet, you know."

Harry grimaces, and then he yawns. "I think I should turn in," he says.

They say their goodnights, and the last words Harry says to his daughter before they end the call is "Be careful." They are the very words he needs to be saying to himself.

As he curls his body under the duvet, his last thought before he falls asleep is of Ruth. In less than 24 hours he will again be holding her in his arms.

Towards morning Harry again dreams.

_This time, he is walking along one side of the street, watching Ruth walking in the same direction on the other side. Every now and again a large vehicle – a bus, a lorry – drives past, and he expects to lose sight of her, but when the vehicle has passed, she is still there, head down, walking purposefully. Harry almost bumps into a lamp post and he steps aside to avoid it. When he again looks towards Ruth she has gone. He attempts to cross the road to get closer, but the road is suddenly busy with cyclists, taxis and several buses. He stands – frustrated – unable to cross, catching sight of her in the distance, hurrying away from him._

When Harry wakes, he is exhausted and upset. Perhaps there is a part of him which still fears losing Ruth. He sighs and rolls out of bed. He has a full day of work to get through before he will see Ruth again.


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Thanks to those who are continuing to read this, and of course to those who take time out to review.**_

* * *

Birchington-on-Sea – Sunday 18th August 2013:

It is a little after 8.30 pm when Harry parks his car outside Ruth's flat. The sun has set, but the summer twilight casts a rosy glow over everything, the recent heavy rain having washed the leaves and grass clean. Harry watches Ruth's flat for some sign that she has seen him, but there is no face at the living room window, or the twitch of a curtain. She could be in the shower, or even lying down. He grabs his phone and calls her mobile, but it rings through to voice mail. He recogises a curl of concern in his stomach as he continues to watch the flat. In the flat next door to hers, where Mrs Pritchard lives with her two cats, a light already burns in the living room. Grabbing his holdall from the back seat of his car, Harry quickly gets out and strides to Ruth's front door. He knocks, and rings the doorbell, and he waits. There is no response, and no noise from inside. He knocks again, this time as loudly as he can, but still nothing.

Seeing Mrs Pritchard's face at the window of her front room, Harry drops his holdall under the porch and hurries to her front door and calls out. "Mrs Pritchard," he calls, "have you seen Anne? She's not answering."

The older woman – probably in her late 70's – opens the front door and leans out. "She's not there, dear. She's gone, and she gave me a letter to give you when you arrived."

"She's gone? Gone where? I only spoke to her last night." _What is going on?_

"She left late morning."

"She didn't go to work?"

"She did, but she came home again. I think she had to leave in a hurry. Wait there, dear, while I get the letter."

Mrs Pritchard heads back into her flat, while a large white cat sits in the doorway, looking up at Harry with a look which clearly says: _Come any closer and I'll chew your leg off_. Harry quite likes cats – he'd liked Ruth's cats – but cats don't seem too keen on him. Mrs Pritchard hurries back, and hands him a large envelope with his name on the front – just the one word, _Harry_. Harry takes it, and thanks her.

"She took all her things, dear. She didn't tell me why. I'm going to miss her. She'd sing sometimes, you know. Lovely voice. She was singing rather a lot yesterday morning – after you left."

Harry thanks her and then says goodbye, before he heads back to Ruth's front door to get his holdall. He throws it into the back seat of his car, and then drives around the corner and parks. He sits for a moment, both hands still on the steering wheel as he takes several deep breaths. He doesn't know whether he is shocked or angry, although he suspects he is experiencing a little of both. He feels like he has been unexpectedly punched in the stomach. He only hopes Ruth is not in any danger.

Whatever is in Ruth's letter, he can't wait to read it, but he hadn't wanted Mrs Pritchard to be watching him through the window of her front room. He settles back in his seat, opens the envelope, and takes out several sheets of paper, on which Ruth's has written in her familiar scrawl.

_Dear Harry, _

_I know you will think me a coward. I had been thinking of leaving this quiet place almost since I arrived. When you turned up on Thursday afternoon, I suddenly saw my life open up in ways I had not expected. I need you to know that my leaving this place is not because of you. It is because of me. _

_While things between us have been wonderful – perhaps too wonderful – I have a sense that we have moved too far and too fast. For this reason I am taking time out from `us'. I know you will be angry with me – again – and that you will accuse me of running from you – also again - but you have to understand that for close to two years I have lived to work, and that I have had no personal life to speak of. The few hours we have spent together over the past few days have been the happiest of my life. I need you to know that and to believe that. I also need you to know that there is not, and will never be anyone else for me. You are my one and only love._

_So, I can hear your mind working. You are asking me that if I care for you so much, why am I not in my flat waiting for you? We'd planned to spend Sunday night and Monday together, and I have been looking forward to it, as I imagine have you. So why am I not there to meet you? That is a question I am having difficulty in answering. Perhaps it is my default reaction to run away when things are progressing well with us. I am not doing this because I need to run from you, Harry. I am doing it in order to check that I am deserving of you. Somewhere inside me I believe that one day you will wake up and realise that I am just an ordinary woman with an extraordinary skill, and you have been dazzled by my skills at work, and this has blinded you to the ordinariness of the woman I am._

_I cannot tell you where I am going because I don't know yet. For now, I am leaving Birchington-on-Sea, and I am leaving you. When I am clear in my head I will contact you. In the meantime, I ask that you don't try to find me. Know that we will see one another again. I just don't know when._

_I am sorry, Harry. Please don't hate me. Know that this is not the end, but maybe a chance for a new beginning.  
_

_Your Ruth._

Harry sits in his seat, the pages of the letter in his hand. He sighs deeply, and staring through the windscreen towards the houses along Alpha Street, he wonders whether he is being set up. He also wonders whether Ruth has written the letter in some kind of code. He is too stunned to be upset. He then smooths out the sheets of paper and reads it again. It is still bewildering to him, and if he is being honest, it makes little sense to him. When they were together on Thursday, and especially Friday night and Saturday morning, there had been no sign at all that this was about to happen. Ruth had been happy, and open, and warm and welcoming. He doesn't believe what she has written to him, and yet equally he has no explanation for it should she be lying.

There is nothing more for him to do. He turns the car around, and heads back to London.

London – Monday 19th August 2013:

After a very restless night, during which he is sure he may have slept no more than two or three hours, Harry gets out of bed and heads straight to the shower. He stands for some time under water a little too hot for comfort in an effort to wake himself. After a breakfast of coffee and buttered toast, he picks up his mobile phone and rings Malcolm.

"Harry? I thought you were spending a day or two with Ruth."

"Apparently not."

"Trouble in Paradise?"

"You could say that. Look, I still have today off. Could I come to see you?"

"When?"

"Now."

"Harry, it's only -"

"I know what time it is. I've eaten breakfast, and I know you've been up since 5.30."

"4.45 actually."

"I'll be there in a little over an hour."

As Harry reaches Malcolm's front door, the time is 7.55 am.

* * *

"This is the original letter, Malcolm. I've scanned it into my laptop, so I have my own copy."

"I'm not terribly comfortable with this, Harry. This is a personal letter from Ruth to you. It is not meant for my eyes."

"I know, and I'm sorry. I wouldn't be doing this were it not necessary. The letter is personal, yes, but there are no intimacies of a …... sexual nature. In it she is giving me a message, and I'm not altogether certain that the message is the one she's written. I suspect ….. code, or …... some other message entirely. I suspect she's hiding some truth from me."

Harry sits across the dining table from Malcolm, impatiently waiting for Malcolm's opinion. Malcolm reads the letter again, and then a third time, and then very reverently places it on the table in front of him. He grimaces as he glances out the window at the drizzle. "My bedding flowers will enjoy the drink," he says absently.

_Sod the bedding flowers!_

"But what about the letter? What do you think?"

"What I think and what I'm meant to believe are two different things, Harry. What I'm being led to believe is that Ruth just needs time out to get herself together. I believe she moved to that area of the country to readjust before …... she made a move to return to London permanently."

"So she's telling the truth."

"What I _think_ is that she is running from something, and that `something' is not you. There are certain ... inconsistencies in her letter to you."

"So why did she say ... what she said?"

"I know both you and Ruth well enough to know that were Ruth in any danger, you would drop everything to save her ….. to deliver her from danger."

Harry feels his jaw jut a little in defence of his default reactions.

"I believe that Ruth may have seen someone in Birchington-on-Sea …... someone who had her leaving her flat and an assignation with you, to run to somewhere else."

"I have no idea who that could be, Malcolm."

"No doubt she made a lot of enemies amongst the Russian contingent in the US, and perhaps even some members of the CIA were not enamoured of her. Many of the Russians have already been rounded up and sent to Guantanamo. I heard that there were ... a few who ... avoided detection at the time Ruth had submitted her final report."

"Do you think they are in the UK?"

"If they wish to silence Ruth, then yes, they are here, and perhaps have been for several months."

"Can you check the CCTV in Birchington-on-Sea? Ruth's normal route to and from work would be a good place to begin."

"Yes, Harry, I will, but I need you to make a couple of phone calls."

"Anything. Anything at all."

"You need to ring her neighbour – the woman next door who gave you Ruth's letter. You need to find out if she knows anything further. Secondly, I suggest you ring her employer – the one who owns the coffee shop. Andy something."

"Gilchrist. His name is Andy Gilchrist."

"He might know something. After all, she was due to work all day on Sunday. Did she turn up for work and leave early, or did she cry off for the whole day? Did he see anyone suspicious hanging around the shop? If so, did they ask questions?"

So Harry stays in the dining room, while Malcolm takes with him Ruth's letter to Harry and retires to his den. Harry makes his phone calls and pours himself another cup of coffee while he waits for Malcolm. Despite his desire to share what Andy Gilchrist has told him, he knows better that to disturb Malcolm while he works. He keeps checking his watch, and is checking it again when Malcolm enters the dining room. "I think you need to see this," Malcolm says.


	9. Chapter 9

London – Monday 19th August 2013:

Harry pulls up a chair so that he can better see the CCTV feed which Malcolm has lifted from just after 11 am the previous day. Three men – all in their late thirties to mid forties – enter the coffee shop. Malcolm fast-forwards the feed to 11.12 am, and the three men can be seen hurrying from the shop. One of them retrieves car keys from his trouser pocket, and jogs towards a car parked further down Station Road –_ towards where Ruth lives_, Harry thinks. Then the car drives off, and towards the coast, until it reaches Alpha Road, and it turns left and out of sight of the CCTV cameras.

"I picked it up later, as they did a lap around a rather large block," Malcolm says quietly, his eyes still on the monitor. "Although the image definition is poor, they _could_ be Russian. The driver looks Slavic around his eyes."

"That fits with what Andy Gilchrist told me. I rang the coffee shop, and he was already there, getting ready for a 9 am opening. He told me that Ruth arrived at work on time, and she was happy and looking forward to `a friend' visiting after she'd finished work." Harry grimaces, thinking of another lost opportunity. "Three men of `foreign appearance' – Andy's words – and speaking `in their tongue' – again his words – entered the shop and took a seat near the window. Ruth went out to take their order, and then she hurried back to the preparation area, which is not visible from the shop, and began babbling something about needing to leave. Andy took her into his office, and she told him that she had to leave – not only the shop, but her job there, and her flat. He prompted her, and she told him she'd worked overseas, and had left because she was in danger of some Russian men finding her."

"Had she said that to you?"

"Not in so many words. She said very little about her time in the US. She claimed she didn't wish to talk about it."

"I can understand that."

"So can I. Andy is worried about her. I had to tell him that I'm her partner …."

"Which you are, Harry."

"I'm not sure she'd call me that."

"I think her letter to you says that loud and clear. It is her attempt to deflect you from the truth, and so protect you."

Harry nods, hoping Malcolm is right. "Andy drove her home, through some back lane or other, and stayed with her while she packed a bag, and wrote the letter to me. After she took the letter next door to Mrs Pritchard, he drove her to the train station in Margate, and stayed with her until she boarded the next train. That's the last he saw of her. Malcolm, could you -?"

"Check the CCTV at all the stations between Margate and London, beginning with Victoria Station."

"Yes. That's what I was thinking."

Malcolm sits for a moment in quiet stillness. "Harry …." he says at last, "were Ruth to go somewhere she considers to be safe ….. and familiar, where would that be?"

Harry doesn't have to consider an answer. There are only two places outside London Ruth would consider to be safe and familiar to her. "Oxford ….. or Exeter."

"And which would the Russians know about?"

"Only Oxford, I imagine."

"So where would she go?"

"Exeter."

"But after her mother died last year the house was sold."

"Yes, it was."

"Harry …... you know something."

"I do, but I'm not about to say anything yet. I'd like to go to Exeter, but I fear she'd not appreciate my following her."

"It's a red flag, Harry. You might be being watched. Until the Russians are dealt with, you'd best stay close to home. I'll keep in touch. I have a plan."

"And you're not sharing it."

"No. I'm not. You're not my boss any more, Harry."

* * *

Around mid-morning Malcolm sends Harry home. Harry, being at a loose end, wanders around his house, looking at everything with a critical eye. Should they soon find Ruth, and should she agree to moving in with him, what would she think of his home? Well, for a start it's not terribly homely. He really wants to see Ruth. He _needs_ to see her. Hopefully she will still wish to discuss a future with him, and to ensure that, he will need to consider retiring. Despite his days spent sitting behind a desk, while he works for MI5, there will always be hidden dangers for himself and those close to him.

Malcolm, meanwhile, makes a quick call to Lloyd Williams, agreeing to meet him at a pub in Wembley. His plan is underway.

* * *

London – Tuesday 20th August 2013:

Lloyd Williams had attended the same school in Swansea as Malcolm, but had been two years behind him. They had had similar backgrounds, and similar opportunities. Malcolm chose to study hard for his A levels and achieved straight A's. Lloyd's father had died when he was fifteen, and his life spiralled from there. Malcolm had pledged to help him at every opportunity, and now such an opportunity presented itself. Malcolm knows that he can rely upon Lloyd to do a job which he himself would never consider. Malcolm arrives only a couple of minutes before Lloyd, so he is able to watch him unseen as he weaves his way between the tables in the beer garden behind the pub. Malcolm has chosen this particular pub because it only has CCTV cameras inside the main building, and none in the beer garden, and why that is is beyond him.

Malcolm can see signs of aging and struggle in the face of his old friend, and feels momentarily guilty about not maintaining regular contact . The truth is that their lives have been too different, and now all they have in common is their early history.

"I have a job for you," Malcolm says without preamble. "Inside this envelope are images of three men – Russians -"

"I hate bloody Russians," Lloyd says, his Welsh accent still evident.

"- and £2000, and that is just a down-payment. If you are ….. successful …. there is more to come ….. a lot more."

"How much more?"

"You know I'll deliver, and you know I'm generous."

"Yes. I do."

Malcolm continues, his eyes holding Lloyd's eyes. "There are also CCTV images of these three men in Oxford. The addresses of the places they have been seen over the past two days are written on the back of the photographs. I have also included their names, but I suspect you'll not need to know that. All I ask is that you are careful, and do not try to befriend them -"

"As if I would!"

"- and do a clean job. Do not leave any traces of yourself ….. anywhere."

Understanding what he is being asked to do, Lloyd nods. This is not the first time he has done something like this, but it will be the first time he has done it for Malcolm. These guys must be really bad for Malcolm to be requiring his services.

"When the job is complete, use this phone to contact me." Malcolm slides a `clean' phone across the table towards Lloyd, who palms it, and slips it in his jacket pocket. "There is just one number programmed into it, and that is the only number you'll be able to ring. The money I am giving you is for expenses. I expect you to have completed your task within 72 hours. If you don't, you're on your own, and I'll hire someone more …... professional."

"I'm professional. You can count on me. Russians! If I had my way, they'd all be dead."

"Well, that might be a task too far for one lifetime, Lloyd. Do you have any questions?" Lloyd shakes his head. "If you think of something just ring me on that phone I gave you. Goodbye."

Malcolm stands, and walks out of the garden through a side entrance. Behind him, Lloyd Williams takes his time finishing his half pint of beer.

* * *

London - Thursday 22nd August 2013:

Harry is up early as usual, having showered, shaved and dressed ready for work. He sits on the sofa in his living room while he eats his fried egg on toast, and drinks his morning pick-me-up – a cup of strong coffee. He has the TV turned to a news channel, and is only half listening to it as he swallows the last piece of toast, wiping around his mouth with a paper serviette. He reads the banner at the botton of the screen, and sees the word OXFORD in bold letters. He quickly grabs the remote control from the coffee table and turns up the volume.

"…_.. Although there were no witnesses to the skirmish outside the hotel in Bath Place, patrons reported raised voices between the three men while they were drinking inside the venue. It is thought that one man drew a knife, and so the others retaliated. This is the third drinking related death this month in the wider Oxford area. All three were Russian nationals, while the fourth man possesses an Albanian passport. Police are looking into the possibility that all four men were in this country illegally._

_Now to the weather -"_

Harry mutes the sound on the TV just as his phone rings.

"Malcolm!" he says in greeting.

"Have you seen the news?"

"Just then. Are they our men?"

"Yes. An earlier bulletin showed images of them, and yes, they are the same ones. There were only three Russians, all of whom are dead. A fourth man was involved, and he's in hospital on life support. Ruth is free to come home ….. to London."

"I might ring her," Harry says, feeling excited.

"I can check the B&amp;B's if you like. It might save you time that you can best spend together."

"Thank you, Malcolm. Thank you for everything. I won't be free to go to Exeter until Sunday."

"I'll get back to you."

And he does. Harry has just sat on a spare bench by the Thames, a chicken salad filled roll between his fingers, when Malcolm rings.

"Anne Redden is staying at the Oakcliffe Hotel in Exeter. She booked in on Sunday afternoon for 7 nights. And Harry, the country won't sink into chaos if you take an unscheduled day off."

"Thank you, Malcolm."

* * *

Malcolm's decision to keep Harry in the dark about Lloyd Williams was a good one. At just after midnight, Malcolm had been woken by the ringing of his safe phone from on top of his bedside table.

"Malcolm?" Of course it was Lloyd.

"I hope this is good news," Malcolm had replied.

"The best news possible. I didn't have to do a thing. They got into a dust up with another feller and they killed each other."

"What do you mean?"

"I followed them down this lane to a pub, right? And I watched them as they tried to drink one another under the table. Then they started fighting with this feller - a foreigner - who came up to them and began arguing with them. The fight went outside to the back of the pub, and they each drew knives. I watched from the doorway, along with a dozen other punters. They're all dead, Malcolm - all except the fourth feller, but he wasn't Russain - and I didn't have to lift a finger. Do you want your money back? I've only spent a little under £200."

"No, you keep it, and I'll transfer another £2000 to your account tomorrow when I go online. It's not your fault someone else got there first."

"Good bloody riddance, I reckon."

Malcolm had ended the call, and tried to go back to sleep, but his own curiosity had kept him awake. He'd put on his dressing gown and slippers and headed to his office. There he checked hospital records in Oxford. Davud Bogdani had been admitted to hospital at 11.12 pm with multiple knife wounds. Malcolm already knew that Davud Bogdani was a member of the Albanian mafia, and had previously been hired by the CIA to do their dirty work in Europe. If Bogdani survives, he's hardly likely to talk. Malcolm sees this as a tidy outcome ... a line drawn at the bottom of a rather messy page.

* * *

By the time he arrives back home at just after 8 pm, Harry has organised for Erin and Dimitri to take over his tasks for the next day, and mentally he is planning his drive to Exeter. From joy to despair, and then back to joy again, all within the space of four days. He just hopes Ruth will be as happy to see him as he will be to see her.

* * *

_**A/N: It seems there are a few Roxy-haters among you, and there I was, in writing her, attempting to create a sympathetic character. As if she'd have Ruth killed!**_


	10. Chapter 10

Exeter – Friday 23rd August 2013:

Harry has wandered through the house, checking that everything works as it should. In the bathroom he sees two cracked tiles above the hand basin, and a broken towel rail. He makes a mental note of each. In the kitchen the previous tenant had left a note listing everything which needed repairing. It was quite a list. Harry wonders whether he will have the time or the expertise to handle the repairs himself. Were he retired it would be a welcome distraction. He again enters the front room, it's floral carpet and the heavy brocade curtains framing the large window overlooking the street both testament to a different time. People now want white walls and kitchen surfaces, minimalism and bland blinds. Harry hates modernism. He is a man caught between two eras.

Looking out the window to the street beyond, he sees a figure slowly walking along the pavement towards the front gate. The figure stops and turns as she reaches the gate. He'd know her anywhere, and he'd been correct in believing she'd want to visit this house, even if only to gaze at it from the street. He leaves the front room through the double glass doors, and then heads towards the front door. As he opens the door, she looks up, clearly surprised, as he steps out on to the front porch, and stands on the top step. He notices the shock on her face, and hopes she will not be angry with him.

"Come in," he says, beckoning with his hand. Head down, she opens the gate and walks towards him along the path. She doesn't lift her eyes to take in the rose bushes which line both boundary fences. It is clear that the garden, once well loved and tended, has since been allowed to become overgrown ….. another thing to which he must attend. Perhaps he can organise for a gardener to visit regularly.

Soon she is standing next to him on the porch and she looks up into his eyes. "Don't tell me you own this," she says, her eyes suspicious, a smile about to form.

"Last year, when your mother died, I saw it for sale online, and I couldn't allow it to simply go to anyone. I knew how much you'd loved living here, so …..." Seeing the emotion in her face – the accusation, the outrage, and even the love – he can say no more. Suddenly he sees how presumptuous he had been, believing that with Ruth dead, he, as the `next of kin', should purchase the family home. He lifts his arm to show Ruth into the house. As she passes him, the look she gives him is one of gratitude, and he sighs heavily, allowing the tension to leave his body.

"Why hadn't you rung me?" she says, her eyes taking in the high ceilings in the hallway, and the delicate woodwork of the cornices, all painted white.

"I thought I'd first check the house. The tenants left owing a months rent, and so that usually spells bad news. It's not too bad at all."

"Do you mind if I look around upstairs?"

"No, Ruth, I don't mind at all."

Harry stays by the foot of the stairs, still nervous about seeing her again. Ten minutes later she comes downstairs and stands close to him. He waits for her to make the first move.

"Thank you, Harry, for buying this. I'm not sure it's a very good investment, though."

"I've put all the rent money into a separate account. I wasn't sure what to do with it, but now I know. It's yours, Ruth. I'm giving it to you. It can be your own investment …... if you want it, that is."

Ruth's nod is barely noticeable, as she smiles up at him. Harry takes a risk and leans down as if to kiss her. Ruth reaches up to put her hands around his neck, and meets him half way. The kiss is careful and gentle and very welcome. Harry slides his hands around her waist and pulls her close. They then hold one another for a long time.

"My bedroom looks smaller," she says against his neck. "I always remember it as being a big room."

"Which one was yours?"

"The one at the end of the corridor. The smaller bedroom was Peter's, and the large room was my parents'. I'm glad I've seen it again. Some of the magic has gone, and that's a good thing. I'll not be longing for the old days …... not now I have you."

"You have me, Ruth, totally and completely." Again they kiss, aware that they are standing in an empty house with very little furniture. "It must be about lunchtime. Do you know of somewhere we can go for a good meal?"

* * *

"Do you know about the fate of the three Russians?" Harry throws the question out there once they've ordered. The pub is busy, but most people are choosing tables outside, given it's a warm day, and the sun is shining.

Ruth looks up at him in surprise. "What Russians?"

"The ones you saw in the coffee shop."

She looks away from him briefly, as if to work out what to say next. "You've been …... spying on me." Ruth's tone suggests she is making a statement of fact, rather than an accusation.

"I asked Malcolm to ….. find out the real reason you left Birchington so quickly. I knew it had to be more than just needing a break ….. from us."

"I didn't Harry …... I didn't need a break from us. I hadn't time to formulate a proper letter to you, and using our personal history was the first thing I thought of. I knew it would make you angry …."

"I wasn't angry, Ruth. I was …. confused. I knew we were closer than that, so I refused to -"

"- take no for an answer."

"Yes." Harry smiles and reaches across the table with his hand. When Ruth covers his hand with hers, he feels more relaxed than he has in five days. "The Russians are dead. It was on the news."

"I haven't been watching or listening to news."

"They got into a fight with a member of the Albanian mafia, and the three Russians are dead. The official story is they were in the UK illegally, and they drank too much, and got into a fight. Their deaths will not be investigated, not unless the Russian Ambassador kicks up a fuss."

"Has the security service intervened?"

"Nothing has come through to the Grid, although it's likely Six are involved." Harry has no knowledge of the deaths other than what he'd seen on the TV news service. MI5 had not been informed. "They were no doubt looking for you, Ruth."

Ruth squeezes his hand. "I know. I've been terrified, but I feel safe here in Exeter. No-one in the US knew my history prior to Oxford. I was annoyed when I first saw you on the steps to my old house, but I ….. was worried you might have been …..."

"Followed?" Ruth nods. "I'm a better spy than that, Ruth."

"I know."

Their conversation is interrupted when their meals are delivered.

* * *

They spend the day with Ruth showing Harry around Exeter. Firstly her old school, which she'd attended prior to her father's death, and then the museum, and lastly, Exeter Cathedral. Harry is just happy being in her company, and seeing her so relaxed and happy. She is in her home town, showing him places which had been important to her. They stay inside the cathedral until 5 pm, when it closes for visitors. Outside the sun still shines, although there are a few clouds gathering on the western horizon. Ruth leads him to the grassed area beside the building and sits down, curling her legs underneath her. Harry joins her, groaning a little as his knee joints complain. Ruth smiles up at him, and then places her hand over his, caressing his skin with her thumb.

"I am so glad you've been with me today," she says. "I've enjoyed every second of your company, and it meant so much for me to show you my home town." Harry watches her as she hesitates. He knows she is thinking. "Harry …... I know you probably have to work tomorrow, but would you stay with me tonight?"

"In your hotel room?"

"Yes. With me ….. in my bed."

Harry nods, smiling. This day is getting better and better. He'd expected at the very least the cold shoulder from Ruth. He would not have been surprised to have received a tongue lashing over ignoring her request about him not contacting her, as stated in her letter. He'd expected _some_ kind of disapproval from her for his eagerness to see her, and his turning up in Exeter unannounced. She had seemed surprised, and genuinely pleased to see him, almost as though she had hoped he would ignore her request. As he sees it, eagerness to see the other, even after only a few days apart, is a good sign for their future.

They eat in the hotel dining room, after Harry pays the extra for his staying in Ruth's room for the night.

"I know people who'd simply smuggle you into their room," she comments.

"It might be difficult to smuggle me, Ruth. I'm ….."

"You're larger than life, Harry."

"Well, I thought I'd lost weight."

"You have. I was speaking metaphorically."

Harry watches Ruth eating. He could watch her all day and most of the night. She is different …... unusual …... not some cardboard cutout of womanhood like so many other women he's known. One of the things he'd admired about his ex-wife had been her ability to be herself. She was different from other women her age, and in his eyes she'd stood out. That was, until he became an absent husband and father, and Jane's responses mimicked the opinions of her mother and her friends. Not that it had been her fault exactly; he'd been the one to let the marriage go, and it had served him right. As Harry sees it, any man who doesn't learn from his mistakes is a fool, and deserves to end up alone.

Over dessert they talk about the food, which is rich and filling.

"How do you feel about spending the rest of your life with me?" Harry asks Ruth when they are taking their time over coffee.

"That's a ... giant segue." Ruth drops her eyes, clearly discomforted. "Is that a marriage proposal?"

"Would you like it to be?"

"I asked first."

"You know I've always wanted us to be married, Ruth."

"Alright."

"Alright what?"

"I suppose I'll marry you."

"That's not an especially …... enthusiastic response."

"I don't see the need for it. We want to be together. Isn't that enough?"

"I suppose so, but I thought something more binding might be needed for after I retire, and I'm rattling around the house looking for things to do, and I annoy you. That might be a time when you have second thoughts."

"So, you're retiring soon?"

"Of course. I have done everything I can."

Ruth nods, a small smile lifting her lips.

"What?"

Ruth looks up at him shyly. "When I left the US, massive cheque in hand, they gave me one last task, to be completed within a year, preferably sooner." Harry lifts his eyebrows with interest, so she continues. "The CIA want you gone, Harry ... from MI5. They no longer wish to be dealing with you."

"The feeling is mutual, Ruth."

"Good. That's good."

* * *

After dinner they take a walk outside, along the street, and around the block. There are groups of young people outside other pubs – pubs with bright lights and loud music which causes the air around them to vibrate.

"I wouldn't want to be young again," Harry says, close to Ruth's ear.

"Me neither. I'm happy as I am."

Harry squeezes her hand.

They shower together, and then once they are dry they are in such a hurry to make love that they allow their towels to slip to the floor so that they can couple on top of the duvet. Afterwards they collapse together and fall asleep. An hour later they both wake, cold and shivering. Wearily, they shuffle under the duvet, and then kiss one another goodnight. Harry is almost asleep when Ruth speaks, her mouth close to his ear.

"Are you serious about retiring?"

"Mmm. I am. What about you?"

"I have nothing to retire from."

"What I meant was are you serious about moving in with me? Will you come back to London with me and share my home?"

"I will, but not right away." Harry turns his head to catch her eye, and she can see he is upset. "I still have to get myself settled ... by myself ... before I can move to London with you. I'll need at least another couple of weeks, and I'd like to spend it here ... in Exeter."

Harry sighs heavily, the next few weeks already weighing heavily upon him.

"I need it, Harry, and it's better for me to be doing it this way than to travel back to London with you and hide myself away until I feel comfortable being around people again."

"I know."

"You're sure?"

"Of course. Do what you have to do, Ruth. I'll always be waiting."

"And there's just one more thing."

"Which is?"

He waits for Ruth's reply, which takes a long time.

"No more marriage proposals. The next proposal must come from me."

This time Harry is almost asleep, but he just has the energy to answer. "Deal," is all he can say.


	11. Chapter 11

_**A/N: Thank you to all who read and reviewed this story. This chapter is the last. It was originally meant to be a brief epilogue, but there were a number of story lines needed tying off.**_

* * *

London – Saturday 2nd November 2013:

Ruth stands just outside the living room door, quietly watching the activity within. Erin and Dimitri are attempting to dance, although when Dimitri had put Harry's iPod on shuffle, he hadn't expected the Mozart overtures to pop up between Shakira and Beyonce. Erin has sworn that she and Dimitri are just friends, but Ruth is sure she detects something more delicate than friendship between them were they open to pursuing it. The service provides a difficult backdrop against which to conduct a relationship of intimacy. She should know. She and Harry almost didn't make it, and may still not make it, although they are both heavily invested in ensuring they will last the distance. There are never any guarantees.

Malcolm and Sarah sit on the sofa, just close enough for their knees to almost touch. Malcolm had briefly explained to Harry the fraught and fragile nature of his relationship with Sarah, newly re-forming after she had broken up with David, her partner of eight years. She and Malcolm are in the early stages of becoming reacquainted - each relearning the other – and this is a process which requires sensitivity and calm, and as much time as it takes. Malcolm has no expectations, but a lot of hope. Ruth really wishes for the friendship to blossom again into something lasting.

By the window across the room Harry, Calum and Graham are arguing about something. As Ruth watches them the similarities between Harry and his son are accentuated, although neither would appreciate her pointing that out. Both have a habit of pouting and pushing their jaw forward when they are opposed; both smile only rarely, but when they do they can light up a room with such a smile; both place their hands on their hips when wanting to be taken seriously, and both have eyes which draw one in as if hypnotised. Graham has just broken up with Lucy, his girlfriend of two years, and so is at the party alone.

"I wouldn't mind being a fly on the wall." Catherine's voice is quiet, as she stands just behind Ruth. "Either Dad is trying to convince Graham of the intrinsic value of the secret service, and that a fine young man such as he is could do worse than being a spy ….. _or_ Graham is making fun of Dad's inability to problem solve when his laptop suddenly blue-screens."

"And Calum?"

"Calum is stirring the pot. He loves a good stoush."

Both watch from the shadows, not moving. Ruth sees Harry look up and catch her eye. It is a private moment between the two of them, as words are conveyed with just a look. They do it often.

"Dad's crazy about you," Catherine whispers, in a rare personal observation.

"He is, as I am about him."

"I envy you." Ruth only just catches her words, and turns to look into the grey eyes of Harry's daughter. "Why? Aren't you and Calum …...?"

"No. We're not. We're very fond of one another, and we enjoy each other ….. in every way ….. but it's not love. It's the relationship you have until the real thing comes along ….. for us both."

Ruth nods. She knows all about that. "Your Dad will be pleased to hear that. He's been dreading the probability of having to give you away at your wedding to Calum. Can I tell him he has nothing to worry about?"

Catherine nods and smiles. "Of course. I can't have Dad losing sleep over Calum and me. We're little more than shag buddies."

"I'll not be sharing that description with Harry."

"He forgets I'm no longer his little girl," Catherine says quietly.

"You'll always be his little girl."

A comfortable silence sits between them until it is again Catherine who speaks. "Does Dad know that the rather nice silk tie you gave him is not his main birthday present?"

"No …. not yet, although his birthday began with a rather more personal gift, which we both enjoyed."

"Ruth! It's unlike you to be so …... forthcoming."

Ruth turns towards Catherine and smiles. "You jumped to your own conclusion, Catherine. We got up early and drove to the DIY store so that Harry could spend the voucher I gave him. He was a little …... perplexed at first, but I assured him he'd have reason to use some of those electric thingies."

"Thingies?"

"You know, electric drills and the like."

"And?"

"He asked me was I pregnant and did I expect him to build an extra room on the house. I'm not and I don't."

"So ….." Catherine looks around the room, where everyone in the living room appears occupied and chiefly content. "When are you planning to give him his big gift?"

"How about now?"

"In front of everybody?"

"Why not? That way he can't refuse it. He'll have to smile and say, `Thank you, darling.'"

"Now is as good a time as any."

"It's in that drawer over there. Would you get it, please?" Ruth points out the second drawer of the sideboard in the dining room. "It's in a manilla folder …... so as to not arouse suspicion." Catherine moves quickly to the sideboard and opens the drawer, taking out the folder. "Would you hold it, please Catherine, until I need it. It has to be a surprise."

"Oh, it will be a surprise alright."

Ruth takes a deep breath, and steps into the light inside the room. She claps her hands, drawing attention to herself, something she is still not comfortable doing, even in her own home. "Everyone? I have an announcement to make." Ruth quickly looks at Harry, and seeing the shock on his face, she meets his eyes and gently smiles. "As you all know, yesterday was Harry's 60th birthday, and I am happy you could all be with him to celebrate this milestone. His last day working for MI5 was only two weeks ago, and already he is experiencing mild boredom."

"Not true at all, Ruth," Harry growls, and the others in the room nod and smile.

"Harry, I have already given you a silk tie -"

"Which I adore, although I can't imagine where I'll wear it."

"And I let you loose in B&amp;Q …... but this were only the curtain raiser to my actual birthday gift. Here ….." and Ruth turns towards Catherine, who hands her the manilla folder, "I have your actual birthday gift." Ruth chances a quick glance at Sarah, who nods and smiles. "Come here, Harry, so I can present you with this."

Ruth reaches out to Harry as he crosses the room to stand in front of her. She hands him the folder before reaching up to quickly kiss him. For the first time since he turned up outside the coffee shop in Birchington-on-Sea almost three months previously, Harry appears nervous and just a little out of his comfort zone. "Thank you, my sweet," he says, "and if this is not a share portfolio worth at least a million, then I'll be -"

While he's been talking, Harry has opened the folder and looked inside. Ruth is relieved to see the surprise and joy on his face. She is overwhelmed when with his free arm he draws her close, and again kisses her, this time with more feeling. "Thank you, Ruth. I don't know what to say." With one arm still around Ruth's waist, he turns towards the others in the room, and swallows hard, and then coughs, before he looks at each person in turn. "My wonderful partner, Ruth, has given me a picture of a delightful cottage, presumably somewhere in the UK, and I am ….. hoping that the gift is the cottage itself and not just this image."

"Yes," Ruth says, so just Harry can hear her, and then to the remainder of the room, "I saw it the day I took the train from Margate, when I had to leave in a hurry. The train passed it, and when I saw the _For Sale_ sign I swore that if Harry ever spoke to me again I'd buy him – us – the cottage …... by kind favour of the US government, who paid me well for my skills. Thanks must also go to Sarah who handled the conveyancing on my behalf." Ruth exchanges a look of gratitude with Sarah, who is still sitting beside Malcolm, and Ruth is almost certain they are holding hands. "We take possession in four weeks, just in time for Christmas."

Everyone in the room breaks into spontaneous applause, surprising Ruth. She looks up at Harry, who is beaming down at her. He mouths two words – _thank you_.

* * *

Ruth has finished stacking the dishwasher while Harry has taken it upon himself to wipe down all surfaces in the main living areas. "That's that done," he says, entering the kitchen, and rinsing the cloth under the tap.

"Nightcap?" Ruth asks, catching his eye.

"Whisky for me," he replies. When Ruth lifts one eyebrow, he continues. "It will be my third for the night, Ruth. I was determined to not drink too much tonight."

"Last night. It's almost 2 am."

Ruth pours them each a whisky – a splash in the glass for her, and a hefty swig for Harry. When he notices the difference in volume of their drinks he grimaces. "You have entirely the wrong idea about me, Ruth."

"I have exactly the right idea about you." She smiles across the table at him, letting him know she is not disapproving. "I thought it might be a good idea were we to visit your cottage tomorrow …... or the next day."

"Perhaps the next day, Ruth. I'm a 60-year-old man. I need my beauty sleep."

"Oh please, you're much fitter than I am."

They sit in silence for some minutes, each allowing their thoughts to run ahead of them, each not sure how it is that they are here – together – like this, after everything that has happened.

"I need you to know that I didn't buy the cottage outright. There is a mortgage, but a manageable one."

Harry nods, and then takes another sip of his whisky. "I can handle a mortgage, Ruth, and you still have your mother's house. When did you ... organise it?"

"Inspections? The purchase?" Harry nods. "I began during the two and a half weeks I spent alone in Exeter. I always planned for it to be a surprise birthday gift for you ... for us both ... and then once I decided to buy it, and Malcolm had already hired me, I asked Sarah to take over the purchasing. In the end it went very smoothly." Ruth takes a small sip of her whisky. "I thought ... for a start we can use it as a weekender while we do it up a bit. It needs a lick of paint, and a nail or two ….. and then in time, maybe …... maybe I can do my little jobs for Malcolm there just as easily as here."

"They're hardly `little jobs'. You've become fundamental to his operation."

"I'm enjoying …... not analysing."

"Now you're just messing with the language, Ruth."

"He calls me a researcher. It's not quite the same thing."

"If you say so, and we're free to move to Kent any time we wish." Ruth nods. "And I can let Graham live here, once he sorts himself out a bit more."

"He seems quite sorted to me."

"His relationship breakup has unsettled him. Apparently he asked Lucy to marry him, and that's when she did a runner."

Ruth feels her face reddening, remembering a time when she'd done a similar thing. "I trust he didn't choose to ask her after a funeral."

"You'll never let me forget that, will you?"

"No. I won't. When you're on your deathbed, I'll remind you." Ruth looks down, embarrassed. "Sorry. That was thoughtless."

"No, Ruth. I'm just happy that you plan to be with me until my death. That represents a lifetime commitment."

"Yes. It does."

Harry smiles widely, and Ruth returns his smile. They hold the eyes of the other for a little longer than necessary, when Harry looks down, sliding his fingertips around the base of the glass. "I have something to tell you," he says.

"That sounds ominous."

"Not at all. Two nights ago, when I went out to get the wine for the party, I saw Roxy. She was leaving the off licence just as I was about to enter it."

"Did you talk?"

"Not really. We spoke - just hello, how are you, that kind of thing. She was friendly, but cool. She was with someone. A man. He was …... about the same age as me, and she introduced him as Greg. He was clearly a friend and not a relative."

"You did her a favour, then."

"What do you mean?"

"By dumping her."

Harry frowned, his eyebrows coming together in disapproval. "I didn't exactly _dump_ her."

"You did. You dropped her and took up with me."

"That's not the same thing, Ruth."

"It's exactly the same thing …... but in the end you did her a favour, so everyone's happy."

"I hope so. What I mean is I hope she's happy."

"So do I. She didn't deserve to be dumped. No-one deserves to be dumped."

"I'm sure I deserved it, especially when my wife dumped me."

"It's different when you're married to someone. Dumping a spouse is a big decision, not to be done lightly. There has to be a very good reason."

"I learned my lesson, Ruth."

"When?"

"Both times – with Jane and then with Roxy -"

"- and all the others in between."

Harry looks only mildly embarrassed. "It won't happen again."

"I know. Bed?"

They climb the stairs slowly, and when they reach the second landing Harry takes Ruth's hand and lifts it to his lips before he turns and leads her to their bedroom. Once he has turned on the light, he draws her inside and closes the door behind them.


End file.
